***

In the end, Ginny does not come to see Harry off. Only Ron, Hermione and Teddy, nestled in Harry Potter’s arms. His hair changes colour, causing Harry to smile down at him fondly, and Hermione to gush. Ron looks at his watch.

"It’s time," he says, and Hermione holds Harry close to her, wishing things were different. Wishing that things were fair, and just, and that Harry shouldn’t feel like he was being run out of his own country. But perhaps Harry prefers it this way. She clings tighter. Ron finally pulls her away, and shares his own intimate version of the brotherly back-slap.

"Give my love to Bill," he says. Harry smiles at them, and it is a new smile. Shrouded, but…not as heavy as it has been, the last few months. Ron hands him a feather, and for a moment it makes Harry think of Hedwig. But the baby in his arms shifts and his thoughts wander and with a last smile at his friends, the Portkey tugs him away, leaving Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger to stare at an empty space. Ron guides Hermione back towards the Burrow, wishing his friend well in his travels.

***

You stare at a woman you do not trust. She inspires no loyalty in you, no incentive to do the right thing, whatever the right thing may be – and apparently, according to the Wizengamot, the right thing has been completely warped in your mind. It’s something you would’ve liked to discuss with your father, or mother, even, but though your parents loved you enough to lie to Voldemort for you, sticking around to wait for your sentence was perhaps a bit too much to ask.

Most likely, they knew you wouldn’t be sent to prison, because as a whole, you did end up fighting the good fight. Therefore, being instructed to finish your N.E.W.T.s under the tutelage of Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, should not be such a bitter pill to swallow. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of love lost between you two, so when she tells you she has been awarded temporary custody of you, until she feels you have righted your wrongs significantly enough, your first reaction is to hex her silly. You were a Death Eater after all, although you admit pulling your wand in this instance might not be a wise decision. Her raised eyebrow, a move you know she nicked from you, settles the matter.

When she looks at you, over those almond shaped spectacles, and says that Dumbledore saw something in you, and that she is honouring that, the frustrated, angry creature inside of you withers and fades away, leaving only you, unhappy and scared. She slides a piece of paper over. Apprentice DADA teacher. You wonder, briefly, what happened to Potter, but as you sign your name on the dotted line – but not before reading the fine print – he, too, fades from your mind as you start thinking about what you’ve been offered. A chance to make it up to…someone. Perhaps yourself.

***

It’s been seven years since Ron watched his best friend piss off to parts unknown, and whilst he does keep in regular contact, he hasn’t seen him since. It’s a bit frustrating at times, like when he and Hermione had wanted to tie the knot and they’d postponed and postponed and postponed until Harry had finally come out and said that he wasn’t returning to England. And by that time Hermione wasn’t sure if marriage this young appealed to her at all, and she moved on to greener pastures and older Weasleys, and whilst Ron is perfectly happy with Hermione and George comforting each other, he doesn’t know whether to smack Harry – next time he sees him – or thank him for saving him from a marriage that, by the looks of things, wouldn’t have worked out. At least they’re still friends, Ron reasons, as he thinks of Hermione and the strain a hypothetical divorce would have been on non-existent children.

Before sinking too far into the theoretical and the supposed, Neville Longbottom pops up next to him, and Ron finally decides that he will actually smack Harry…not because Neville is a bad sort, Ron quite likes partnering with him, but because this non-Floo thing is terribly inconvenient when you’re trying to get permission to raid someone’s house. However, Grimmauld Place skulks in front of them, and although Ron is in two minds – and that’s plenty confusing for him – about entering it, he grits his teeth and motions his team forward. It’s a little difficult when certain memories tend to swamp him, especially when one trainee, a nice little redhead that reminds him of his sister (but not too much) finds an ear, which has them all in an uproar. But it turns out to be half of an extendable one, and somehow that’s almost worse.

Neville understands though – Neville understands! – and pulls Ron away to the upper echelons of the house, where they turn into a corridor that’s dark and unfamiliar to him. True to his Gryffindor heritage, both of theirs, actually, they march forward, opening doors until they get to one that’s locked. The nameplate on the door says "Trespassers shall be disembowelled – BB" and because Bellatrix is such a barrel of laughs, Ron doesn’t think for a moment that she’s not serious.

It seems, though, that a young Bellatrix Black is not half as fearsome as her illustrious counterpart – Ron privately reasons that marriage must not have agreed with her – and whilst the spells on the door are nasty and horrid and very seventh year Slytherin, they’re not too strenuous for two fully trained Aurors. Although, Neville does stumble at one point, but Ron magnanimously decides to leave that out of the report. Inside Bellatrix’s room they find a lot of horrible books that don’t shock Ron but do make him feel queasy. There is a wooden chest sitting innocently on the shabby desk in the corner of the room. Quite dull, except for the fact that when Neville reaches out to touch it – Ron’s quick to whip his wand across the other man’s knuckles – a glowing ward pops up around it, and since Ron is no curse breaker, he contains the threat (wraps it up so nobody, least of all him, will have to touch it) and gathers his team. He’s had enough of Bellatrix and Grimmauld Place and Neville – sorry mate – for the day. He shrinks the chest, and resolves to talk it over with Hermione, who is sure to know something about it. More than he does, in any case. He will, of course, not be putting that in his report either.

***

You stare around the room, and wonder why you’ve been invited to such an elite gathering. Sure, you’ve moved up from apprentice to full-time DADA professor, but since you are no Head of House like Flitwick and Granger, and no Auror like Weasley or Longbottom – and Merlin, Longbottom?! – and definitely not Headmistress, you’re a little confused. Of course, they wouldn’t know it looking at you. You’re perfectly content glaring down your nose and channelling your former Head of House. Snape did do sour best, after all. You’re also trying to avoid the small, ancient goblin-looking man who’s been trying to perfect the Snape glower as well. Of course, by his standards, he was probably a Hufflepuff (and you know you can’t really say that out loud, but it’s fun to remind them all, once in a while, that you’re still you). His glower increases. Maybe he was a Gryffindor.

When he opens his mouth and launches into a tiring tirade of accusations that are neither polite nor surprising, McGonagall vouches for you, and so, to your surprise, does Granger. It’s almost worth the look on Weasley’s face. You drift off and wonder how many points you will be forced to take off little Davey Jones tomorrow when he manages to foul up his shielding again when Weasley brings out a chest that looks particularly unpleasant. As expected, his explanation reveals close to nothing, but it does intrigue you to realise your loony aunt was already up to no good when she was your age. It would be more useful if she was still around instead of leaving you as the bad Black apple.

Apparently Weasley and Longbottom managed to restrain their impulses and didn’t touch the chest, which seems intelligent, especially due to the nasty protection ward around it. Granger agrees that it’s a protection ward, but you’re both stumped when it comes to disabling it. It’s definitely foreign magic. Now the doddering fossil in the corner speaks up, introducing himself as someone or the other, Professor of Obscure Magicks (and he’s capitalised that in his head, you can tell). You think this might just excuse his remarks earlier, but when he goes on to explain that although the markings on the chest are African, he has no clue what they mean, you feel vindicated in your former abhorrence of the man. Just when you think that this meeting was an entire waste of a good wank, Weasley – Weasley?! – comes up with the idea of Flooing his brother the curse breaker. Since this is quite clever, you want to heap praise on Granger – she must have blown intelligence through his cock or something – until you remember that Granger is now dating the living half of the Weasley twins. Chagrined that you’re forced to think about any Weasleys during this meeting at all, you sit back and allow them to Floo long distance.

The eldest Weasley always brings up some uncomfortable feelings, especially since those pesky scars never quite healed and no one can really blame you for keeping your head down. He doesn’t seem to notice you. He does, however, offer information on Potter. Potter. Your breath stalls in your throat. How many nights have you spent not thinking about that tosser? Yeah, a lot. It’s very humiliating to wake up night after night trying to repress the fact that not only do you probably owe Potty one or multiple life-debts, you also may be quite possibly a little attracted to him, but it’s only because he’s fit, and not because you actually like him, and you’d only do him for the novelty value, really, because Potter is, no doubt, the village bicycle (whichever village he’s in right now). At least, you’d be, in his position - pretty people throwing themselves by the dozen. Then again, Potter’s morals would probably not let him take advantage of that. You seem to remember Gryffindor-ness being an issue between you since the beginning.

So when all the illustrious faculty members and Weasley and Longbottom are going on about someone having to visit Potter’s curse breaking agency in Kenya, because Werewolf Weasley insists that Potter is the only one who can help (of course), you want to poke your vocal chords out with your wand when you open your mouth:

"If it was appropriately funded and the proper precautions were taken, I would not be averse to putting myself forward to deal with Potter on this matter," and now you finally understand why your father threatened many times to ‘beat the Gryffindor tendencies out of you’. Of course, at the time you thought he meant your secret automobile fascination, but you could’ve been a little off.

Weasley, of course, wants to protest, but Granger backs you up, again, and you’ve got to find a way to stop her acting all chummy, because, frankly, it’s a little unnerving. When you catch McGonagall’s eye and she winks at you, you know that whatever Weasley says is moot, because you’re going to Africa. With a magic chest that might be cursed. To see Potter. Your smirk falls. Well, fuck.

***

The plane lands and you are not happy. If only the Floo connection between London and Cairo hadn’t gone tits up, you could’ve been here hours ago. Unfortunately, Granger’s fantastic plan included booking you a flight. On a plane. With turbulence. But now that you are out of the Muggle death-trap and into the Kenyan heat, things are still pretty rubbish. You’re not quite sure what exactly has been arranged, but the moment you see a tall, leggy blonde you know she’s there for you. And no matter how bent you are, you can appreciate a fine, female form. Until, of course, she drops the sign with your name on it and it’s Loony…Loony Lovegood, and if you didn’t think Potter had been completely nutters in the first place, it would definitely be confirmed now. Still, anyone is better than no one, so you stride towards her and she greets you with her vacant grin. You pat your pockets where you’re carrying your shrunken luggage and that damn chest and nod, and she leads you to a massive automobile that you know is a Landrover, because you’re good like that.

Loony says she can drive, but you still feel queasy once you get out of Nairobi and onto long stretches of open road. If you’re lucky enough you see wildlife through the clouds of dust the car is kicking up, but most of the time you’re keeping your eyes closed and breathing through your nose as Loony vaults over potholes. You’ve been driving for a while, and Loony offers no information why she was the one to pick you up. The only thing she says is to holler if you see an Erumpent. You’d like to snap that you’re not seeing much of anything right now but you’re too worried you’ll be spotting cheap plane food coming back up if you do. She points out Mt. Kenya, the second highest mountain in Kenya, and you spare a moment for an internal sneer that they should’ve called the highest mountain Mt. Kenya instead of whatever it’s called before closing your eyes and forcefully breathing out again.

After a few hours, though, you wonder why on earth Potter located his curse breaking business in some remote backwater village. Loony shrugs, and says that the people who need them always find them. Finally you arrive at a place called Wajir, which really is in the middle of nowhere. On the outskirts of the town, Loony parks the car in front of a lodge, and guides you in. It looks shabby from the outside, but inside it’s cosy, and – dare you say it – nice…The room you get is apparently next to Potter’s and your greatest joy for all of six seconds is discovering a connecting door. Then Loony clears her throat and tells you Potter should be around somewhere. She disappears, which is a little what you expected, but you were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Alas, manners, apparently, are not taught in this household.

You quickly unpack and explore the house, trying to find out if Loony is sleeping with Potter, which would just be…well, you don’t like to think about. Potter’s room shows no evidence of it being a joint room, but neither does it argue against it. You find this a little worrying, and you don’t want to think about it, so you make for the backdoor, tripping over some building blocks. Why would Potter have building blocks? You attribute them to Loony’s influence and spot a large group of people further up. They’re playing a game which you observe but you find yourself hopelessly lost as yet another person attempts to bat a ball through some kind of hoop on the floor. And everyone is wearing white. It’s difficult for you to spot Potter, but you forget about him when you see a small boy tug at your trousers. You try to say hello, but before you have a chance, you get the inquisition thrown at you.

"Who are you? I don’t know you, and daddy says strangers aren’t welcome here, and you don’t look like you can play cricket."

Cricket? You frown, must be the game.

"Is your father playing?" You attempt to engage the child, but he’s looking at your hair now and giggling. You start to feel a little out of the loop.

"Your hair’s funny. I’ve never seen hair like that. You must not be from around here. Are you married to Aunty Luna? She has hair like that. Your shoes look uncomfor-uncomfo – like they hurt."

You swallow your momentary outrage at the fact that this brat seems to think you could be married to Loony of all people before looking at your shoes. They’re beautiful Italian craftsmanship, but perhaps not so appropriate for the sand and dirt roads you’ve been seeing. You look at the child again, but instead of the black hair he had before, he’s now got your hair colour – and style. You blink. He’s changed his eyes from amber to grey and he giggles at you. Suddenly it hits you. There was a child – the werewolf and your cousin…they had a child, although you don’t remember his name. You give the boy a once-over. He appears the right age. Potter ought to be around here, somewhere then. Sure enough, a man breaks from the players and jogs forward. The boy hears him coming and you watch as Potter – because of course it’s him – swings the boy up in his arms and settles him on his hip.

You swallow. Harry Potter is a tanned sex-god, with curling black hair and eyes unmarred by glasses. He is slim and lean and wiry and oh so sexy, and the only thing you take comfort in is that you’re still taller. But Harry Potter is hot. You meet the little boy’s gaze and you just know he’s laughing at you, but then you turn back to Potter and to your surprise, you catch him in the final moments of giving you your own full-body glance. You smirk, but he smirks back, and to your outrage…he does it better.

"Well, well…Malfoy. Long time no see. If I’d known you were the errand Luna had to run, I’d have picked you up myself. We could’ve chatted." He grins, and it’s all laughing mouth and straight teeth and you drool and then mentally wait for your dormant Lucius voice to use his cane on the inside of your head. You nod and try to say something suave, but by the look on the boy’s face, you’re failing. Potter looks at the child and turns to you.

"Malfoy, this is Teddy. Ted, this is Draco Malfoy. He teaches Defence at Hogwarts, where your mum and dad went."

Teddy looks at him curiously.

"You don’t look that old."

You frown, before you realise he’s implying that you taught his parents, and you begin to splutter in outrage as Harry throws his head back and laughs…and oh shit, you’re in so much trouble.

"Potter," you start, and find you have to clear your throat, again. "Potter…Weasley and Longbottom found something in Grimmauld Place that they want you to examine."

Harry raises his eyebrow, and here’s yet another person who’s blatantly stolen that expression from you.

"You couldn’t have owled it?" he asks as he leads you back inside. He sets about getting you a drink and then makes the boy hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, when it’s thirty degrees outside.

"It’s rather volatile," you reply as you stare at the kid drinking the hot stuff down like ambrosia. "Isn’t it a little…intense weather for hot chocolate?"

Teddy Lupin finishes drinking and glares at you, but the milk moustache is not very scary and you wait for Potter to answer. Potter shrugs.

"He likes it. He takes after his father that way. A real sweet tooth." He ruffles the boy’s hair and there’s a doting look on his face. A pang goes through you and while you never wanted kids (which was an issue like you wouldn’t believe when you mentioned it casually to your father), it’s…refreshing to see Potter like this. He looks content. And for some absurd reason, that makes you happy. You shake to clear your head and place the chest on the table. It glows, and Teddy backs away from it, knocking his mug over. Potter is standing up now, a worried look on his face.

"Teddy? What’s wrong? What is it?"

But Teddy Lupin just scrambles back, scratching his arms, and then the lid of the small chest flies open and violet light erupts from it, casting the room in various shades of purple. You rush forward to try and close the lid, but you’re thrown backwards by the sheer force of the protection ward around it. Teddy’s screaming and he’s clawing at his skin now, swaying and his eyes roll up as he slips onto the floor, unconscious. The chest flips itself shut and both you and Potter rush forward to the fallen child. Potter snarls at you as he runs all manner of spells on Teddy. You recognise a few that Poppy uses. Potter picks up the child and turns to you, his face devoid of the playfulness it had earlier, and somehow, even though you know you can’t help, you realise you’re going to get blamed for this, no matter that you already feel guilty enough.

"You came into my house," he hisses, and you shrink back. "You brought this with you. I don’t care where it comes from, or who ordered you to do it, but you brought it here, and now my son is unconscious from some unknown curse. For your sake, Malfoy, you better hope he wakes up soon or I am going to send you back to Hogwarts in pieces. And I’ll use my hands, not my wand."

You’re a little intimidated…perhaps a bit more than little, but seeing Harry Potter in a righteous rage is both fascinating and terrifying, and your brain is having a field day twisting his words into something kinky, although you tell yourself that now is really not the time. Loony comes rushing in from whatever cave she hides in and takes in the situation with a glance. She frowns at you (and you try to act offended, even though you realise that if you were in her position, you’d turn on yourself too) before following Potter into Teddy’s room. You hover in the doorway. Some might call it lurking.

Potter is in the process of treating Teddy’s arms, before he instructs Loony to gather some ingredients for a potion you’ve never heard of. Not that you’d ever, ever admit that, but you sidle closer. He pretends not to notice you, although you know he blatantly does by the way the muscles in his cheek keep twitching.

"I…I didn’t know, Potter. No one did. No one’s had this reaction to the chest," you babble as you try your hardest to convince him. "Weasley and Longbottom found it at Grimmauld Place, and it belonged to Au- erm, I mean, Bellatrix, when she was younger. They found it in her room, and the protection ward was already around it. McGonagall even got some ancient professor to come and study it, but he didn’t know anything…the eldest Weasley said you might be able to help. That’s why I came." You look at him, gauging his response. His face is still tight and unfriendly, but with Teddy breathing and looking half-way normal again, you let yourself relax, just a bit.

"I’m sorry," you say, even though the words are unfamiliar in your mouth. And you really are. Potter and Teddy Lupin (and all right, maybe Loony as well) are a family, and you’ve brought this into their home. Not your finest moment. You’re lucky Potter didn’t start cursing you immediately. You look at him and he gives you a nod before walking out of the room and opening a door you haven’t noticed yet. It leads to a small but well-stocked potions lab, and your fingers tingle. Potter starts pulling out ingredients before fishing out a scroll from basket on a shelf. He scans it, and nods, placing it on the table. Then he turns to you.

"Luna will be back shortly with some key ingredients. I want you to make this. It’ll help me dispel the ward around the chest, so we can find out what the fuck happened to my son!"

You take a look at the scroll and frown.

"Potter," you say, "this doesn’t make any sense. Some of these ingredients are really unstable when brought together, especially–"

Potter’s hand slams onto the parchment. You swallow and look up. You get caught in his stare and berate yourself for ever agreeing to this insipid idea of leaving Hogwarts.

"Do it, Malfoy. Trust me when I say I’ve been brewing this a lot longer than you have. I just won’t leave Teddy right now. I know it’s difficult for you, but could you, just for once, do as you’re told and make yourself useful?"

That stings a little, but you wouldn’t be a Malfoy if you didn’t know how to deal with it. You lift your chin up, and glare at him. Funnily enough, it makes him…well, not smile, but something like it. He leaves as you roll up your sleeves, waiting for Loony to come in with the hellebore, even if you have no idea how it’s going to combine with the rest of the potion. You guess you’ll just have to trust Potter. Trust Potter. Certainly a new experience.

***

You don’t believe it. Whatever potion you’ve just cooked up, it’s working. You watch as Potter pours the nameless liquid over the chest, and you can see it eating away at the protection ward. You consider asking if it comes in spell-form, but luckily your brain catches up to your mouth and you realise that if that were the case, Potter would hardly be brewing potions now, would he? Then again, this new Harry Potter is an enigma. You’re just outside Teddy’s room, Potter wanting to handle the potion and chest himself but at the same time not being able to stand being more than a few feet away from his child. You’ve started referring to Teddy as his child, and in your head is this image of you and Potter and how ridiculous is it that you’re planning happy families but you still can’t bring yourself to call the man by his first name. It’s delusional, and quite frankly, you’re feeling a little disgusted with yourself. The pride of completing the potion and watching it work is first and foremost in your mind though, followed by a healthy dose of curiosity about what the chest contains. Your Slytherin preservation skills make sure you step backwards as Potter inspects the chest.

He’s muttering to himself (no difference there to what you remember from Hogwarts) and he’s looking carefully at the figures carved into the wood. Something about them makes him raise his eyebrows, and he turns to you.

"You said this belonged to Lestrange?"

You nod, and he frowns. He shares a look with Loony, and this is a new low in your life because you find yourself actually jealous of the ex-Ravenclaw. Today is a sad, sad day in the life of Draco Malfoy. Potter catches you shaking your head and with a blush, you avoid his eyes. Great, he thinks you’re more of a prat than he already did.

"These markings are Muggle," he finally announces, and your mouth drops open. Your aunt actually owned something Muggle…your world shifts, breaks, then re-aligns. Muggle. Muggle Muggle Muggle.

"Muggle?" you repeat, because, yes, it seems like you’re stuck on that piece of information. Potter nods, and Loony takes over. Her voice is actually quite pleasant, and you resolve to hate her all the more.

"The markings belong to a tribe called the Masai. They’re the native inhabitants of Kenya. They have their own brand of ‘magic’ as they call it, but it’s very different to what the wizarding world understands as magic. It seems strange that anything like that should affect a wizard, especially Teddy who has grown up here and become part of the land, really. Maybe it was–" and here Potter steps in, and what a good idea too, because if Loony had started going on about Erumpents and what not, you might’ve resorted to physical harm. Very uncouth for a Malfoy, but it seems you’re discovering a few home truths about half of your family that you wonder if your father knew.

"Maybe she didn’t know they were Muggle," you offer and Potter glances at you before nodding.

"Possibly" he says, "but it seems unlikely, because these types of chests are specific to a certain group of the Masai that live near Mt. Kenya. So she must have been there at some point in her life or someone in the Black family…" he trails off and for a moment you’re ready to run to catch him because his eyes are wide and his nostrils flaring and he looks like an angry hippogriff. He casts a few more spells, things you vaguely recognise from required Malfoy reading, but wouldn’t know what to do with. He’s sweating by the time he’s done, and even Loony looks a bit worried, which is sort of like her normal surprised expression, only with her mouth a bit less open.

Wiping his forehead, Harry sits down on a chair and stares at the chest before looking at you in a way that makes you very uncomfortable.

"Roll up your sleeve, Malfoy," he says and you shake your head in denial, backing away until you find the wall right behind you. Potter keeps you pinned there with his eyes and you clench your hands into fists as you shake your head.

"What’re you playing at?" you hiss, even as he stands up and walks towards you. You can’t move, can barely breathe and he’s so close…and even though you’re easily a head taller, it still feels like he’s taking over all your personal space. You think about pulling your arm away, but for some reason you let it dangle and he takes it with a false gentleness…as if he isn’t showing you how repulsive you still are to yourself. The mark pulses beneath his hand and he trails his fingers over it. You wrench your arm away – too late though – and ignore the fact that your eyes are blurry. Potter steps back and you gulp in air before sliding down against the wall.

"The Dark Mark…I expect there’s a lot of dormant dark magic." He rubs his face as if he’s made some great discovery and the restless anger that’s been throbbing underneath the fear since he ordered you to roll up your sleeve, comes out.

"No shit, Potter. Thank you for bringing that delightful blight on what otherwise would have been a perfect life up in front of an audience again."

You suspect you could’ve continued in this vein for a while, but Potter appears unimpressed, and not for the first time you wonder what happened to the boy that was so easy to rile up during your Hogwarts days. No one changes that much, you think. You didn’t. You don’t feel very positive about that comparison and look straight at Potter.

"What’s your point?"

Potter smiles, as if rewarding some petulant child and it takes quite a lot not to whip out your wand and let him have it. You don’t fool yourself though, that you would stand a chance against a seasoned curse breaker. Never mind that it’s Potter.

"You say you weren’t affected by the chest when Ron showed it to you?"

You shake your head.

"I think the key is Black blood," he says, after looking at the chest again.

Black blood? You shake your head. No one has black blood…or wait…

"You mean my family’s blood? What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Potter glances towards the room where Teddy is still sleeping. Loony comes back with drinks, and you gladly make your way to a chair and sink down on it.

"Teddy was affected by the protection ward, not by whatever is in there," he points at the chest. "Since Ron and Neville found it at Grimmauld Place, a house that would, normally speaking, have been populated by Blacks, and the protection ward didn’t affect anyone else, I would imagine that this was a way that Bellatrix wanted to make sure that none of her family touched this. Hence the protection ward with a curse against any of Black blood."

You frown. Your crazy cousin was Teddy’s mother. He’s only a fourth Black, but apparently that still counts. Clever Bellatrix. Then you spot the gaping flaw.

"Problem, Potter. Did you happen to forget that I am half Black?"

Potter smiles, a big shit-eating grin that makes you squirm.

"So you are. My guess is that that pretty little reminder Voldemort left you counters whatever dark spell Bellatrix put on that chest."

You stare at your arm. Good point. Amazing that the ugly thing is still good for something. At this point, Teddy starts screaming in his room, and Potter is first through the door. He’s holding the boy in his arms, whispering soft words, but the screaming doesn’t stop. You come closer, and to both yours and Potter’s surprise, Teddy calms down a little. Potter looks at you, then his gaze drops to your arm.

"It’s the mark, it suppresses the curse…" he makes room and you sit on edge of the bed, feeling awkward. Potter has a funny look on his face and opens his mouth as if to say something when Loony comes in and just completely ruins the moment. You’d like to think homicidal thoughts, but it’s a little difficult with Teddy lying so close to you. Loony has brought in the chest and places it on the nightstand.

"I think we should open it. It might give us a clue."

"Not in front of Teddy," Potter responds, but Loony shakes her head.

"It may help him."

"Or make it worse!"

She looks at you. You sneer. You can’t help it – it’s automatic!

"I think Malfoy’s mark will dampen whatever effect, if any, the box has."

You’re still not sure, but Potter turns to size you up and then apparently trusts Loony, because he pulls the chest towards him opens it. You throw your hands in front of your face, and feel remarkably stupid when nothing happens. You try not to insist out loud that it could have. Potter and Loony look amused enough. The three of you look at what’s inside and you prepare for something nasty, knowing your relatives. In the middle of the chest, on blue velvet, a large egg rests. You look around and catch Loony’s eye. It appears she is as mystified as you are. Potter though, is frowning and looking more worried by the minute.

"Stand back," he calls, and you scramble off the bed as he takes out his wand and breaks the shell. A large flash of purple lights up the room, and the egg has cracked in two even pieces. Something moves under the shell halves and you hold back a scream. A very manly scream, let it be known. A pale, violet body slithers out of the egg remains and curls around the chest. A snake. Loony freezes. Potter begins hissing. You faint.

***

"Explain to me," you say as you get thrown around the jeep that Loony is driving – and why is she driving again, why? – "again, if you will, what exactly we’re going to do, and why we all had to come?"

Potter glares at you, but by now you’ve had enough time to come to terms with the fact that, yes, you fainted (but the climate is different here and whatnot) and yes, Harry Potter is oozing sex appeal just by sitting next to you in the car, and yes, even holding his son doesn’t diminish any fuzzy feelings of l…lust that you may have for him, so you’re not too impressed by his glares anymore and you’re slowly feeling a bit more confident. They’d hardly would have taken you if they didn’t think you’d come in handy. Maybe as a willing sacrifice, your father’s voice sneers in your ear. Thanks, dad, you whisper dryly to yourself as you look at Potter, raising an eyebrow, content in the knowledge that it’s your facial expression, thank you very much.

"I’ve told you, Malfoy, that snake is a half-breed. A cross between a black mamba and a boomslang – the magical variety. That explains the purple. It doesn’t explain anything else. Why anyone, well, except for your family and Voldemort would want to cross breed two of the most venomous snakes in Africa, I don’t know."

"Well, can’t you talk snakey to it?" You say, trying to put your hands on your hips but failing miserably as Loony almost crashes into a steenbok, some small antelope thing, for the fifth time. "Loony!" You announce your displeasure.

You’re sure Potter almost smiled, but it’s gone when you turn back to him, and he’s looking at Teddy instead, who is burning up.

"Do you think Bellatrix somehow managed to conjure the venom into the protection ward?" you ask, and you can see Potter look at you with new eyes…like you’re actually worth something. It’s a nice feeling. He shakes his head though. So much for your contribution.

"She might have done, but what would be the point of putting a magic poisonous snake in a box guarding nothing, and then having that venom attack members of her own family? It doesn’t make any sense. Besides, if it were snake venom, Teddy would already be…well…the outcome would’ve been different."

You can tell how hard it is for Potter to think about the fact that the boy lying in his arms might not wake-up. Teddy has come out of his restless sleep several times, but he doesn’t recognise anybody, and it’s only when you come close that he relaxes enough to fall into a slumber. Some other you, in a different time and place, might have taken great pleasure in tormenting Potter that you are the only – however temporary – comfort to his son. Instead, as Teddy whimpers again, you shift closer until you’re sharing half of his weight. Potter mumbles something that might be a thank you. Loony catches your gaze in the mirror and smiles. You sneer back – its habit – but she appears unruffled.

"So where are we going again?" You know, you just like to be annoying. Somehow, you’ve reverted to this bratty seventeen-year-old who wants Potter’s attention on him and him alone. Not good. You can be attracted to Potter and still maintain your Malfoy dignity. You can. Honest. You watch Potter roll his eyes.

"We’re going to one of the Masai settlements. This one is half-way up Mt. Kenya."

Loony frowns in the mirror.

"I thought most of the Masai lived in the Masai Mara National Reserve?"

Potter nods at her, infinitely more patient then with you.

"They do, but there are some tribes still spread out over Kenya. These markings…I know them. I’ve been in contact with these people before. That’s why none of this is making sense. They’re peaceful, introvert people. Keep themselves to themselves. Don’t get involved much with tourists like most of the Masai do. They try to stick to the old ways, although it’s getting more and more difficult."

Loony looks contemplative while you’re just confused. But you forget about it once you see the mountain. Loony did point it out on your way here, but to see it looming over you as you drive closer and closer is majestic. You sometimes like to hike the mountain trails up in Scotland, on the weekends. It gives a reprieve from the kids and gives you time on your own. Not that that’s always a good thing, but most of the time you can stop things like Vince’s voice screaming and you can be at peace. Most of the time.

A soft tap on your shoulder startles you, and you’re surprised to see Potter, still holding Teddy, looking at you with something akin to understanding. He lets you get out of the car, but then leans forward.

"I’m not always sure about the quiet either," he says before walking off, leaving you with a bemused expression. Is it possible that you and Potter have more in common than you think? It’s difficult to draw the line between Potter then and Potter now…or, you say to yourself, more likely, the line between you then and you now. It’s not hard for you to see the angry, spoilt child you once were within yourself, within students at Hogwarts, even. And you don’t know how to help them, because most of the time you’re not even sure if you’ve helped yourself at all. In the years you’ve been at Hogwarts, your parents haven’t returned a single one of your letters, and though it hurts and ignorant mongrels like the ones at the Ministry would say that they left you and saved their own skin, you know – you know – that no one ever loved anyone more than your parents loved you, except perhaps Lily Potter. And although you understand your parents reasoning and you understand that in keeping you safe they’re keeping themselves safe, it’s not always easy. Sometimes you just want someone to talk to. Someone to drink with, to laugh with – and if this gets anymore soppy, Draco Malfoy – but for once you ignore your Slytherin voice and wonder why, why do you always have to be sarcastic, a cynical bastard who because he can’t have what he wants has to tear the joy away from other people. And even though you know you’re being too hard on yourself right now, you’d just like…a companion. A partner. A friend and lover both. It’s just your sorry fate that in your mind, since you were eleven, that spot was occupied by one person only. Harry bloody Potter. You sigh and wrench yourself back to an active participant level.

You’ve been trudging along behind Potter and Loony, glad that you remembered to change your shoes before you left. You’re half-way up the mountain, and you’ve veered off the usual tourist paths. When you bump into Potter, you automatically mutter an apology, and he stares at you before nodding. You can’t make him out - nods, glares and smiles seem to be thrown at you with no emotion whatsoever. Does he even have any feeling towards you? Any? You’d even take ambiguity at this point. Giving yourself a mental slap for moping, you straighten up and watch as Loony moves a large rock covering a tunnel. At first you balk, but when Potter reassures you it’s not a cave, merely a pass leading to the Masai, you squeeze yourself between him and Loony. Neither of them comments. You’re grateful.

Once you come out the other side you understand the necessity of the coat Potter told you to take. It’s snowing. Well, not snowing, but there is snow. Snow…you can’t help touching it, watching it melt in your hands and you laugh. You manage to catch the tail-end of Potter’s fascinated look. This time you hold his gaze, and he looks away first. Snow! You plod on happily, taking the time to look around at the view. It’s stunning, but that’s really an inadequate adjective and all you can think of is how the Breath of God must have landed on this mountain. That sounds rather poetic. You don’t even believe in…but it doesn’t matter. The words fit, and it feels like no one can get to you here. No voices.

It takes the four of you some time to reach the tribe, even with Potter’s weightless spell on Teddy. Finally you see smoke coming from an encampment up ahead, and this gives you an extra boost of energy. The Masai have already seen you coming, and you’re not surprised when they usher Potter in and gesture for you to make yourself comfortable. The Masai are a tall, dark and beautiful race of people, with large eyes and high cheekbones. Their hands are rough and their limbs wiry. Some hold spears, others are busy painting shields with paint made from crushed beetles and plants. Some women are making clothes, or tending to the children, and while you know that most of the Masai have adapted to modern times, there is a special charm with this group, trying to hold on to their roots. Potter appears deep in conversation with someone whom you gather is the tribe elder, or leader. Loony, while apparently not being able to speak the language, is doing well with gestures and signs. The Masai offer you food and something hot to drink that you can’t place and you smile at them. Potter’s voice is growing louder, he points at Teddy and then finally sets the chest on the table.

With the speed of a whip-crack, many of the Masai have their spears pointed…not at Potter, but at the chest. The elder is speaking very fast but very low, and Potter’s face turns white. He says something, but the man shakes his head. And then…and then Potter starts to cry. Silently. Which is worse. He picks Teddy up from the makeshift bed and holds him close, and tears keep coming, and you’ve never felt so useless in your life. You want to comfort him, but you have no idea where to start, or even what the problem is. The camp is silent as they watch Potter cradle the boy to his chest. There are no mocking faces. Only respect for a warrior in obvious pain.

The Masai elder says something, and Potter looks up. His eyes narrow, and he gets a shrewd, calculating look on his face. He asks some questions – at least, you think they’re questions – and the two men get into a discussion. Whatever Potter appears to be suggesting is not possible, according to the elder. You frown. If that’s what he thinks – he doesn’t know Harry Potter. Potter thanks him and comes over to where you’re sitting, still holding Teddy, who was turning in Potter’s embrace but falls quiet when you touch his arm. Potter gives you a thankful look.

"So," you say, and remind yourself not to be flippant (even if you are very good at it), "what do we do?"

Potter looks at you, searching for something. You sit still, and hope he finds it. It seems he does, because he gives a short nod.

"The Masai have a very special connection with death, although they don’t call it that. Young people are missing, and old people are sleeping. They strongly believe in continuity…the body dies, but the spirit lingers."

"Like ghosts," you say, looking at the tribe around you. Potter nods.

"A person is only truly dead when they are forgotten in the minds of others. The chest…it is a death chest. They don’t know how Bellatrix got her hands on it, but I think it must have had something to do with Voldemort. The line between life and death here is very, very narrow, and Voldemort would have certainly wanted to use that."

You nod, trying to stop yourself from shivering every time the Dark Lord is mentioned. He’s gone, you tell yourself. He has no power over you.

"So do they know what’s wrong with Teddy," which is what you’re really worried about. Potter doesn’t cry over nothing.

"I think," Potter swallows and pulls Teddy tighter. You move in closer, trying to comfort them both. "I think the hybrid is supposed to drain magic. I reckon, Voldemort came here, trying to find out if there was a possibility to make himself immortal."

"Was there?" you ask, unable to hide the tremor in your voice. Potter shakes his head.

"No. I would know. He’s gone. But I know that there are some very powerful, unexplained magical occurrences in Africa. Especially concerning snakes. A good snake breeder can prolong a magical hybrid’s life for centuries, keeping the poison or curse fresh. Taking Nagini into account, I’m sure Voldemort had that type of power. The death chest, as the Masai call it, would be the only thing strong enough to contain such a snake. I think…I think he made this with the intention of using the snake to drain the Black magic. Even though most of them are insane, they are quite powerful, and if Voldemort had the Black magic, then he would acquire all the gifts that come with being a Black."

"Gifts like a propensity for Animagi, the ability to see deception, and, of course, a talent for the Dark Arts," you shudder as you picture the Dark Lord with the Black powers, even though not every Black had every gift, or even any.

"Not to mention, Black blood opens the Black vaults."

You frown.

"But wouldn’t Bellatrix just have given him access to that? Why did he need this snake thing?"

Potter grimaces before accepting another cup of hot something.

"Bellatrix couldn’t have given him the Black gifts. No one could. She could’ve shared her blood, but that still wouldn’t have transferred the magics. No," he says bitterly, "he wouldn’t have wanted to drain Bellatrix of her magics either. She was a loyal supporter. Better to leave it at Grimmauld Place, where she occasionally spent the summers, so that people like Sirius, who was a blood traitor, and Regulus, who was dedicated but weak, could be used. Sirius’s dad was dead by then, and Walburga unable to leave the house."

You suddenly feel ill.

"This only affects people who are near the chest, right?" You give it a hostile look. Potter glances at you.

"Yes. Your mother is safe, Draco."

He called you Draco…you try not to swoon. But you do blush and you turn to avoid his eyes. That makes you look at Teddy, and your happy feelings vanish.

"What about…what’s wrong with him? How could the curse have affected him while the snake was still in the chest?"

"Imagine, Voldemort creates this hybrid with the ability to drain magic, specifically, Black family magic. He gives it to Bellatrix, a supporter in her early years already, who leaves it at Grimmauld Place one summer. Perhaps the last summer she was ever there. Maybe the summer Sirius ran away, Regulus joined the Dark Lord, and Walburga died. So it sits, useless, in Bellatrix’s room. So many years later, I kill Voldemort,"

You hear pain and repressed memories and you want to hold his hand, but you don’t think you and…Ha…Potter are ready for that yet.

"With Voldemort dead, his magic sealing the hybrid in the chest begins to weaken. The curse melds with the protection ward, so that anyone who has Black blood will fall under the curse, even if the hybrid can’t physically get to them. You have no idea how lucky you are that you’re still carrying that Dark Mark. That’s Voldemort’s mark, so Voldemort’s protection from his own curse. Otherwise you might’ve ended up just like Teddy…well…not completely like…"

Potter obviously can’t say anymore before his face is twisted and ugly to look at and you want to shy away, but you have to know, need to know why your first cousin once removed is still sick. You hadn’t thought of it until this moment, but you and Teddy are, however distantly, family. Finally, Potter seems to pull himself together.

"Teddy’s dormant werewolf genes are interfering with the process. Normally, once the victim’s magic is drained, that’s it. They’re nothing more than a Squib, but they live. Teddy…the draining of his magic is affecting his nervous system, and curse is eating away at his muscle tissue. He will literally waste away. My son…"

You stare at Harry – and it’s Harry now, because in the face of this, how could he be anything else – and you want to shake your head that no, no, you will find something, Loony will find some crazy non-existent creature or Harry will do his Boy-Who-Lived stuff or you could brew a potion, but this child…this…he’s not going to die. He’s not.

"He’s not dying," you say and Harry blinks at you and you can see the anger gathering in his face, but you continue, "you’ve got to do something, Potter – Harry, try Parseltongue, do some curse breaking shit, isn’t that what you do?!" And you have no idea why you’re getting so damn upset about this because twenty-four fucking hours ago you didn’t even know the kid but if someone like Teddy Lupin (and you want to hate, hate, hate Lupin) can’t survive this then how will things ever be right with you? You’re pacing now and Harry is staring at you and Teddy is twitching in his arms and you’re thinking, thinking, because what can you do? No potion you know will cure this, everything will only prolong the inevitable and when you feel like you’ve worn a hole through the mountain plateau Harry gets up and slaps you.

You snap out of it. He pulls you down beside him and Teddy calms down again, and you feel guilty for your own little crisis interrupting the (if only temporary) comfort you can give the boy.

"There is one thing," Harry says and you stop breathing. For a moment.

"What?" you say, and Harry looks out over the snow, his hand brushing Teddy’s hair away from his clammy forehead.

"You have to look after him, Draco. You’ll be his only family. It’d be nice if you could convince Luna to come back with you – I know you don’t like her, but she’s the only constant female influence Teddy’s had."

What the hell? You’re completely baffled by the change in Harry’s tone. It’s determined now, the same voice he used when he was throwing your insults back in your face, the way you imagine he talked before Quidditch matches.

"Pott – Har – Potter what the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Harry looks at you, his face blank, his hand still stroking Teddy’s hair.

"The most fundamental rule of life and death magic, Draco. You haven’t forgotten, have you?"

You blink. You hate it when Harry Potter knows more than you. You skim through barely retained scraps of information…life and death…life and death…you stop and shake your head.

"No fucking way, Potter. You’re not going to sacrifice yourself like some bloody Gryffindor twat. I thought you’d outgrown that," and you’re really furious now. How dare he act all noble when he’s got a kid on the line? "Don’t you give a shit about Teddy? What if there’s a different cure? Something else – there has to be something else–"

"There IS nothing else, Malfoy!! I’ve thought of everything. Like you said, I’m the curse breaker here!! There is no solution, no wise words and happy ending…this is it. I have to do this…a soul transferral spell, or something…I’d do anything for him…"

Harry looks at Teddy and you want to hit him, and then you finally, finally do and it feel really good. He looks surprised but you’ve already started shouting.

"This isn’t Voldemort, Potter! This is a child, and he depends on you, and trusts you and you’re just going to abandon him?"

Harry looks furious but he doesn’t hit you back. Instead his lips go thin and his eyes sparkle and oh, if only the circumstances were different.

"He’s MY son, Malfoy! MINE! He’s all I have – and there is nothing, NOTHING I wouldn’t do for him!"

And then suddenly, there’s the answer, right there in front of you, and for a moment it’s just you, suspended in time as everything falls away and you come face to face with your choice. And it really isn’t a choice, just a simple yes and there’s Harry, looking savage, and Loony – Luna, you guess – behind him, looking scared (and that doesn’t look like worried or surprised at all) and the Masai are tense and coiled for action.

"Not you," you say, "me."

And Harry doesn’t get it, of course he doesn’t, because he’s Harry Potter and for most of his life he’s had to do things on his own, especially when it comes down to it…but now there’s you, and you can do something, for once. You can make it up…to yourself. To your father and mother. To Vince.

"Not you, me," you repeat. You lean forward and gently take Teddy from Harry’s arms, who doesn’t want to give him up, but you insist, and slowly the boy slides against your chest. His face looks peaceful, and you think yours does too. The Masai elder comes towards you and gives you the chest, but Harry takes it and tugs your arm.

"We should go higher up."

You nod, and it feels like you’re walking on air. Harry casts a warming spell and even though the snow crunches beneath your feet, you feel comforted. Safe. Harry smiles at you, and the feeling increases ten-fold. Safe, you think again.

***

It’s quiet at the summit of Mt. Kenya. You don’t even mind the name so much, anymore. You sit on the snow, holding Teddy in arms. Harry holds the chest, and he watching you, watching your every move and you wonder why all the good things come when the bad things have already happened? You only found out how much your parents loved you when you’d gone and done…well, everything wrong. You only realised how much you enjoyed teaching when you were forced into the position. You only realised that Teddy was family and that you did have other relatives than your parents a day ago. And you know…you know you could have…have cared…lo…something'ed Harry Potter. And you should be angry, but you’re strangely at peace, because there’s something about this place that makes it very hard to be angry with anyone.

"Hey," says Harry as he pulls Teddy away and puts him gently on his coat in the snow.

"Hey yourself," you say and you smile. You think it’s a nice smile, an honest smile, and you know there haven’t been that many of those in your life.

"Listen," says Harry, but you don’t want to listen, and for once, you are definitely not going to listen to Harry Potter.

You lean forward and kiss Harry Potter. All of you. You throw everything, every feeling, every memory, every inch that you can into that kiss. It’s a final one, right? You’d better make it good. Harry kisses you back. His hands wind in your hair and he pulls your face up towards his, and even though it’s straining your neck, you don’t care, you don’t care because this is it. You’re making it up to yourself. Then Harry pulls away, brushes your hair from your face and smiles.

"Who knew," he whispers and steps back. You’re still floating in ice crystals and snowflakes and all you can see is Harry. Who takes another step back. And pulls out his wand.

"I’m sorry," he says and before you can stop him, he’s caught you in some sort of sphere, and you can’t get out. You pull your wand and cast spell after spell but you already know you won’t be able to get out. Not before it’s too late. Harry pulls Teddy into his arms and looks at you.

"I’m sorry," he says and you can’t hear him but you know what he’s saying anyway.

"Just let me out, Potter," you snarl, "and we’ll see how sorry you are!"

But he just looks away and opens the chest and the hybrid comes out, pale violet and long and coiling up Harry’s arms, around his neck. Then, as you helplessly pound against the transparent wall, you see Harry initiate a magic link between his soul and Teddy’s and you scream as the snake bites down, keep screaming as Harry falls into the snow, keep screaming as Teddy falls on top of him and you wish, you wish that these walls would disappear and you throw all your power against them but when they finally go down you know it’s not because of your wandless abilities, but because Harry is so drained that he no longer has the energy to hold up the spell.

You’ve got tears sliding down your cheeks as you scramble and slip over to them, whispering their names, screaming and crying and shaking your head in denial because no, no, no this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! Teddy was meant to keep Harry, was meant to have his father, and Harry was meant to watch him grow up and now you may have lost them both and no, no, please and then finally you’re there, next to them. And they’re both not breathing.

You see something pale and violet dart out underneath Harry’s body and as it rears up to bite (because it’s instinct, nature) but you don’t care because you’re so filled with hatred at the sight of it that you pick it up and rip it apart with you bare hands. You imagine you hear screaming, and think it serves the creature right, even though it’s not the hybrid’s fault it was raised to kill, and then you sob onto Harry’s chest, holding Teddy close. Why does he always have to be the hero? Why is he always so fucking stubborn? You hit his chest, once, twice, before a small hand stops you and you look up and blinking his eyes sleepily is Teddy. Teddy! Teddy’s awake, Teddy’s alive, and he did it, the bastard did it! You pull Teddy towards you and hug him as you pepper his face with kisses and after he scrunches up his nose (and it’s adorable, he’s adorable) he looks at you and says,

"Why are you kissing me?"

And you laugh. Because it’s such a valid question – why indeed? And you laugh and kiss his cheek again and say,

"Because you’re so precious, Teddy. Because we’re going to be great friends, and I’m going to tell you all about your family and things are going to be just fine."

At the mention of his family, Teddy smiles and you smile back, and you wonder how you’ve lived without this little boy when he sees Harry and his face contorts, and his lip starts to wobble.

"What’s wrong with him? What’s the matter?"

"Teddy," you say, but you feel as helpless as he does. He starts to struggle and you let him go, and he’s clambering over to Harry, shaking him.

"Daddy! Daddy!" and it’s such a high cry, so painful to listen to, "Daddy, please! Please, Daddy, wake up. Wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m sorry. Daddy…"

You try to pull him away but he’s yelling, he doesn’t want you, he wants his father, and how do you explain you want his father too and he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop yelling.

"DADDY! PLEASE!"

Then suddenly Luna is there, and with her a few of the tribe and Teddy reaches for her and she’s crying but doing her best to comfort him and the Masai move to pick up Harry and you stand up and push them away.

"No," you gesture and nod your head, "no – this is my job."

Luna looks like she wants to object, but you give her such a fierce look that she nods and you pick up Harry (who’s so cold, so pale…almost pale violet) in your arms, and he’s light and barely there against your chest and you lead the procession back to the camp where Luna helps you load Harry and Teddy into the jeep. You try your best to be polite and say thank you to the Masai, but as you leave the mountain you’ll always remember this place as somewhere that stole something precious from you.

***

It’s quiet in the lodge. Luna is packing up all of the things they’re going to bring to England. You’re going to move back to Malfoy Manor, and she’s coming with you. You didn’t even have to convince her. You asked, and she agreed, and you both know it’s for Harry, and for Teddy. Harry’s body is in his bedroom. It might be morbid, but neither of you can stand to bury it here. Better to bring it to England, where Harry lived. Where he was loved. You hate how ridiculously sentimental that sounds, but it seems like the edginess has worn off you a bit. Now you’re mostly tired. Harry’s body isn’t cold. He could almost be alive, if it wasn’t for his strange colour and the, well…the not breathing part. Teddy sits by Harry for hours on end, and you know it’s not healthy but you can’t bear to take him away. You lean against the door and watch them, stare at them, and you don’t know how to fix it, and you know that Harry would’ve known, if he was here.

***

At night, you can hear the animals. In Scotland, you might get badgers and foxes and some people like to throw in a myth about a wolf or two. In Kenya, you hear everything, and it’s unnerving. You finally managed to get Teddy to sleep (although you suspect Luna spiked his hot chocolate). Now it’s four in the morning and you’re still awake, still thinking, going over what happened. Could you have changed it? No. No one can equal Harry Potter in speed or magic. But if you only understood why…why didn’t he let you take the fall? The quiet surrounds you and you hate it. You have half a mind to go wake up Luna when you realise she’s already in the doorway. Only it’s not her.

"Do you still hate the quiet?" Harry asks, as he walks towards you. He’s still pale, but the sickly purple veil that hung on his skin has disappeared.

"Harry," you whisper, because you know you’re dreaming but you don’t want to wake up Teddy with your yells. That would just be cruel. But Harry sits on your bed, and he feels solid, and he’s breathing. He reaches out a hand to touch you but you flinch back before throwing yourself forward.

"Harry," you whisper and it’s a litany of sighs and sounds and you wrap your arms around him as he curls up next to you. "I thought I’d lost you. I thought you…you stupid fucking Gryffindor!"

"I’m sorry," Harry says, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I just couldn’t…I couldn’t let you do it. You thought you deserved to die…deserved to just give up. That this was your chance to ‘make it right’."

"It was," you whisper, but now you’re not so sure.

"Bullshit," Harry says, turning to look at you. "What good is making things right if no one can see it? If no one knows what you did? If all you do is think that you deserve feeling crap for the rest of your life? That’s not true, Draco," he shakes you and you stare at him.

"I…"

"You’ve paid, Draco. Paid in full. Multiple times over. Stop feeling so fucking guilty about everything."

You don’t really want to believe him, but you can see that maybe there’s a little bit of truth in what he says. So you guess you’re finally listening to Harry Potter after all.

"Teddy is going to be so happy when he sees you," you say and Harry smiles at you.

"You know you couldn’t have done it anyway, right?" He smirks as he tousles your hair.

"Done what?" You bat his hands away. He lets you.

"You’re a Black, Draco. If you’d started a link between you and Teddy, the curse would’ve been passed onto you."

"But I would’ve lived," you say. "I don’t have werewolf genes."

Harry looks at you.

"But you would’ve been a Squib, Draco. I know you can handle a lot, but I just couldn’t…you’ve…I just couldn’t put you through that. Not you."

"I would’ve been strong enough," you say, even as the thought fills you with dread.

"I know. But you shouldn’t have to be strong enough all the time."

Neither should you, you think, but the fact that Harry cares and he…cared enough for you to do…that…

"How did you wake-up?" you say, looking at Harry again. Every minute puts more colour on his face. He gives you a grin.

"Well," he says, "I didn’t know this at the beginning but it seems that all Parseltongue originates from a certain type of snake…"

Your eyes widen. It’s just not possible.

"…and it just so happens that Parseltongue, which seemingly originated in Africa a long, long, long time ago, cancelled out the hybrid’s curse. Although I was assured Parseltongue wasn’t a Dark Art, it seems I’ll have to do some more research."

He gives you a wink as you stare at him, before closing your mouth with his finger.

"No one is that lucky," you say and he smirks at you.

"Oh," he adds and you brace yourself. "Because of the link between me and Teddy, he’s now free of werewolf genes."

You wait for the ‘but’. There’s always a ‘but’. This is Harry Potter, after all.

"But," you prompt.

"I might have acquired those genes myself."

He gives you a sheepish look as you roll your eyes. Only Harry Potter, ladies and gentlemen. Only Harry Potter. He kisses you and you decide to talk about it in the morning, making very certain that there will be no scratching or biting during sex. Ever.

You smile. You’ve made it up to yourself pretty well, Draco Malfoy. Not bad at all.

End.

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