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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE:

(May 1st 2000 – 4:30 pm)

It was a drab day. Drabbest of them all it seemed. Though it should not have seemed so, not for Draco. Even if it was a solar eclipse, this day should have felt like the day doors to paradise were opened to him, freedom should have ruled in the air, the imaginary sun should have finally dawned on him after the endless night that had been the last three years. It was anything but that.

The grey of the clouds was just that, grey and grim. The constant drizzle falling relentlessly on all happy, sad, grumpy and indifferent Londoners was just that, a grey and grim drizzle that stained more than washing away all that needed to be washed away. There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing liberating. Not for Draco.

"Pardoned!" was the only word Draco really heard. All else was just noise.

With the final strike of the gavel, the Wizengamot was dispersing. It was a tide of robes and hats and chatter at him through which Draco Malfoy tore. People around him were turning into shadows, conversations were turning to a distant hum. Making use of all his dulled faculties to the limit he followed the instinct that would lead him to his elusive goal. Fast, panicking, desperate.

It was a matter of life and death and Draco knew it. Though it seemed most of the things he had to do in the past three years had been just that, a matter of life and death. And these days, at times, when he was stowed away in his empty manor, he often came to the conclusion that he had failed at each and every one of them.

His mother had been killed, his father had been given the kiss. And he, he had become a social pariah.

And here he was. At the edge of sanity, running after the one last matter of life and death. Which was his own, unfortunately or fortunately; it was yet to be decided.

Draco held very little hope though. He had very little of it left, after three years of misfortune. And during his lonesome trekking of the manor grounds in the winter he came to accept the fact that, what he thought as being born to luxury and fortune, was in fact being born into vice and misfortune. It not only did not prepare him for what was to come. It took away the most important thing from his person. The freedom to make his own choice.

His wrong and disastrous choices were made for him, and the only thing luxury and false sense of superiority that was drilled into him did, was leave him unprepared for the kind of evil that would come to reside so near to him. The worst part was, that he had been forced into embracing it as well.

Not even given the choice of indifference.

It was not long before even the hum of the crowd he was still cutting through tuned out of his ears and all he could hear was the rapid thump of his own heart. He kept composing himself and breaking apart every alternate second as he made his way.

His vision was turning blurry around the edges. He knew he had over-dosed on the repressive potion and his body and magic was burning it all out rapidly, the overheat of the unsuitable reaction making him feel dizzy. But he kept on until he almost broke out of the Assembly hall. The sprawling chess board marble floor was like a huge optical illusion to his frayed nerves, concaving and convexing in patches where he tried to focus. Shutting his eyes tightly enough to make his eye sockets hurt he stepped on to it, sprinting across the seemingly endless length of it in the direction of the great mahogany gates. The sound of his rough breathing now joining the cacophony of his irregular heart beat in his ears and whimpers inside his chest.

He bumped into quite a few people-shadows along the way, but he cared nothing for it and even less for them taking offence. On the other side of the gates was the reception hall and communal Floo stations and that was Draco's destination. Pushing out of the dizzying atrium he finally made it to the reception hall. Eyes desperately scanning through the small queues in front of all twelve Floo stations, he spotted what he was looking for a few feet away from the fourth station on the far left wall which housed the departing Floos.

His shaking world came to a stop. It was as if all his veins were filled with lead. All desperation and burning energy seeped out of him dread replacing it. He was doomed and he knew it. A few more shadows bumped into him as he made his way towards his goal as if in a trance, a way similar to that of a wizard meant for a Dementor's kiss walks towards his fate, urged by misfortune and excruciating pain of loss and loneliness which was to be his only companion, he was almost sure of it.

Though, the small sliver of hope remained embedded in his heart was what was even more painful than all the pain that had been inflicted upon him.

He realized that the potion was almost gone. His instincts were still slow, but the connection was awakening. It won't all be under control for much longer and if this was to be done, it had to be done right then and there. He kept his pace and his focus somehow once he started moving again. The jet black hair worked as a homing beacon towards which he moved as the world around him was still slowed to an almost pause. Perhaps he was moving too fast.

The back was turned towards him, slim, but strong. The hair, a shiny black against the maroon of the Auror-in-training robes, head bobbing in a nod. Draco came to a stop a few feet away determined to be under control. There were people all around and his aristocratic training of years was not all in vain. The smaller a scene he made, the better. He was probably about to forfeit his life and though he was damned any way, he would be double-damned if he let it all happen without dignity. So it was to be done now, while it was all still under his control.

He noticed the flash of long red-hair and then widened blue eyes facing towards him from the other side of the turned away back. A sickening wave of fury and irritation rose in the pit of his stomach, mingling with his nausea and a shower of hurtful memories amidst darkness and clatter.

He cared very little if it showed on his face at this point. There was only so much he could control.

His throat started to ache as his whole body broke out in a cold sweat. He looked down at his feet trying to gain some kind of control on his fury.

Taking a deep scorching breath he looked up again towards the man that still was unaware of the presence behind him. Draco envied him as he always had. What would he not give for the same obliviousness towards the other's presence? But it was not to be. Never had been since he had laid his eyes on the person eight years ago. Draco had always been aware. Now he knew why, and if he did not keep in check, so will the rest of the world.

Nature or fate as you may call it had played him a losing hand, long before he was even born. Draco's fate had been written in nothing but blood and hate being born in the rain of stones with heart, body and soul made out of glass.

He licked his lips to no advantage as his mouth was just as sandpaper dry as his lips.

"P-Potter?" he did not know how he uttered the single word. But by Merlin's grace or curse it was done.

The back facing him stiffened and Draco stiffened in reaction, though only visible to the eyes of Potter's companion.

With an effortless grace that was most characteristic of Harry Potter, he turned around and sharp and cool emerald green eyes, which were huge and intense in that deceptively soft countenance were settled on Draco in a steely gaze, not giving a millimetre.

Draco was losing. Instincts warring, the nausea still not completely subsided. He was stuck somewhere in the centre of mindless suicide and bleeding worship.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ginny Weasley said sneering at him from Potter's side. Her contorted expression made her look ugly, but she wasn't ugly was she? No she was pretty! And the one standing by Potter's side, she was the one with the world in her hands. A Weasley? A faithless, opportunistic whore! (Which even in  his feverish rage, a part of Draco knew she was not.)

Draco lost it then, not the control on his instinct, but the one on his temper. And as he was uttering the words and his face was changing its expression into just as much of an ugly sneer as hers, a part of him was oddly detached from the whole situation unfolding in front of him. It was as if he could watch it from a distance as a third person, who knew all the secrets of everyone present; he was watching clearly how the last thread of hope he had was snapping right in front of him by his own hands as if in slow motion.

"I do not think your name is 'Potter' yet, Weasley! So I would appreciate it if you would not respond to such, or is it too much of good manners to ask of a Weasley?"

As far as exchanges of insults went between Malfoys and Weasley, this one was atrociously mild, but its consequences would be much more far-reaching than anyone could have predicted. But in that moment, this mildly rude dialogue would doom Draco. Perhaps forever, and the saddest part was, that only Draco knew it. Only Draco would know how big a punishment can come from the mildest of insults.

Before the girl could answer, Potter stepped closer to him menacingly.

"You have some nerve, Malfoy! I just saved your arse from the Dementor's kiss and you come and insult those dear to me?"

It was as if someone had thrown an ice-cold bucket of water on Draco's hot skin. He realized with horror, the error he had just made. Yes, it was starting now. This was the moment that would stamp everything for Draco. But all Draco heard was the phrase, 'Dear to me.' Draco would never be that, he was somewhat realizing. Still he tried. But bloody Gryffindors never did stop and listen for a minute did they?

"P-Potter…Listen…" he said somewhere in the flood of soundless rush in his ears.

"NO, MALFOY! YOU LISTEN!" Potter snarled harshly green eyes full of venom and Draco's blood froze as his mouth shut and voice died in his throat. Draco Malfoy was listening and watching that acidic venom of hate, culminated over years perhaps. Birth and ignorance, that was what doomed Draco to this fate, it was stupid of him to even keep that little string of hope intact. He should have killed himself when he had the chance. Now, even that was going to be taken from him.

"I saved your arse only because I owed it to your dead mother! I would have gladly let you die as you are as much of a useless evil git and Death Eater scum as your bloody father was! Hear THIS! And remember it! And follow it! If you know what is good for you, you will leave this country and you will never show your face around here! If you know what is good for you, I will never hear Draco Malfoy's name. I will never see your ugly ferret-face again! If you know what is good for you, Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world, Malfoy! Do you understand?"

Draco remained silent and stunned. Wondering why he was still standing up straight when his soul was shattering? What held him up? He felt the sliver of hope dissolving like a wisp of smoke into thin air, the oppressive void filling his chest like hope never had.

Potter's gaze…that's right! That was what was holding him up. Potter's gaze full of disgust and hatred. Disgust and hatred addressed all at Draco, tenfold deeper than what was on display.

"I ASKED IF YOU UNDERSTOOD, MALFOY?"

"Yes," something answered for him.

"Good!" said Potter and suddenly fished inside his robe. Pulling out a wand and throwing it in Draco's face. It was Draco's first wand. The one that committed him to this fate. The one he remembered Potter snatching from him at the manor. The wand hit the side of Draco's cheek and then fell down clanging against the marble floor.

"Now get lost and remain lost, Malfoy!" Potter spat at him before taking the arm of Ginny Weasley and stepping into the vacant Floo a few feet away. Draco watched it all frozen on his spot. Draco watched his life burning before it melted and withered away into ashes and green flames. Draco watched as it never once looked back to see his ultimate destruction, Draco watched as it confined him to a life of excruciating pain and endless suffering. Draco watched, and when he couldn't watch anymore, Draco did as he was told.

Chapter 1 : Now Asleep, Now Awake.

(January 6th 2021 - 5:45am)

Sleepy Kyrenia.

So beautiful in its slumber as I stand and watch it from the top of the hill where my humble abode rests.

Bellapais,

That is what they call this hill.

With its ancient mystical Mulberry tree, rumoured to enchant those who taste its fruit and rest underneath it to forget all worries of life and just laze around till life passes them by.

If only it was that easy for life to pass by.

I admit it was this story that brought me to this place and it would be ungrateful of me if I claim that I have not felt welcomed here. The magic, beauty of the Mediterranean is pure here as well as peaceful and I have stood in this very place so many times watching the slumbering town beneath. Waiting. Wilting, oh so slowly.

But this morning is different.

So different from what I have always expected this morning to be like, in the end.

Though there is not much strength left, I celebrate still.

I feel justified. Accomplished.

Twenty years of endless suffering in banishment and excruciating pain. And my triumph can only last a week at most.

But, it is enough, it has to be. I have no regrets. Not anymore.

The golden line on the horizon tells me of sunrise. I remove my night-shirt. To face the sun one last time. Clenching my fist around the single knitted woollen glove, I stole so dexterously. I have been holding it for most of the night, it is my last solace, and I think I deserve it, I deserve this little piece of that which would be missed for a moment before it will be replaced by something newer better, but this, for me is the best I can have, and it can never be replaced.

My uncovered weak flesh faces the rising sun and I feel the freshest of sunlight on my chafing skin. I feel the over-whelming foreign magic burning inside my veins. It is consuming me fast. Faster now.

Soon, I will be too far gone to feel it all anymore. Or I maybe I will still feel it, but will not be able to make sense of it anymore. Soon it will all become senseless and mindless. And that, in my opinion, is called heaven.

I hear someone entering the room behind me. I am very sure of who it is.

Aali, My apprentice and employee. My adopted progeny. And my companion.

He is always loud, especially when he is trying to be silent. Always behind when he is trying to be ahead.

And to me, that is his most endearing characteristic.

"Ustad! When did you return?" he gasps behind me as I turn to look at him. He holds the watering can, filled to the brim. So reliable my Aali is. Broad, tall and brawny with his dark hair, distractingly stern brow and expressive olive-green eyes. He is scanning me thoroughly and worryingly.

Always worrying.

"Last night…" I answer to distract him from his scrutiny.

"And you did not think to Floo me? Or call me on the phone?" he huffs a little. Yes, striving to hide his worry by acting normal.

"I did not want to trouble you…you are a family man now…"

"Yes, I am, and you are a part of that family…I worry about you…"

"Well, you won't be worrying for long then."

He freezes bent over the Twirlezil, watering can held aloft the magical herb, which is thriving it seems. Thanks to his careful affection and worry. But alas, I am not some herb, and Aali's careful affection and worry are not going to help me thrive. As things stand, nothing can.

That was a harsh way of breaking the news.

He turns towards me carefully. His clenched fist around the filled watering can trembling.

"What did you do?" he asks eyes wide, the kind of wide which means he is coming to a realization.

"What I was supposed to…it was the worst case scenario…" I say, knowing that making light of the situation is going to make his reaction more severe. But I need him to have his breakdown now. Where  I can see it, soothe him, handle it. I need to be present, still in my senses for his good byes. His are the only ones I am going to receive. Rest I am only going to send, to those who are probably not even looking for them.

"What did you do, USTAD!?" he yells loudly at me, and I can feel the sound hitting my skin, aching. The watering can smashes on the side. As he takes a step towards me menacingly.

Yes, angry…Angry is good. Angry is as good as it will get. He has Sarah now. Aali is not alone. He will be fine. It will all be fine, painful for a while, but he will come through. And once the baby comes,  he will be perfect again. Helping people, raising a family, never alone.

I have done my due.

"Only what was necessary, Aali…he had me make an unbreakable vow."

"NO! He did not! You offered to make an unbreakable vow didn't you? I know this! How could you?"

A tear escapes his olive eyes as I can see his heart shattering in his eyes.

"How could I not?" I ask him. And it's true, how could I not? It was the best deal I was going to get. Only, at that moment I had not really considered the fact that I might succeed. It was wrong of me. Severus would have disapproved.

"Don't you even start! You planned this, I knew that letter was the siren of doom, I knew! I felt it! I should have kept it back! I should…You can't do this! Ustad! You…" He shudders and takes a deep breath, shoulders hunched and all of a sudden he looks like the boy I found in my back lawn soaked in winter rain, curled in on himself breathing harshly to keep warm, scared and lonely but brave.

So brave. So thin and wiry, so beautiful.

"Aali…" I reach out to him the same way I had all those years ago, as he trembles fixed on the spot, moist eyes staring at me and I can see his heart burning with grief in his eyes.

I haven't been a total failure then. I have someone's love. Someone is going to grieve me after I am gone. It is a selfish thought, but I haven't been that in a long time, and now of all times it should be okay.

He reaches for my hand the same way he had done fifteen  years ago, when he was nothing but a scruffy thin boy of ten  years. And before I realize I am being embraced. He is the same height as me but much more solid and broad yet he manages to hide in my arms, like the little boy he will always be. My little boy.

"How long?"

He asks me as I sit on my recliner facing the French windows, his head in my lap as he sits on the floor next to me holding my shins in a death grip as he spills silent tears.

"A week…at most." His breath hitches audibly.

"And… And the pain?" his voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

"No more than three days at most…I am sure."

"I should never have given you that cursed letter. I am so stupid!"

"And see me suffer for how many more years? You could never be that selfish!"

"Yes, but how can you be so selfish?"

"I…." in truth, I have no answer for that. What can I tell this boy who is more to me than my own flesh and blood would have been? What can I tell him? That I was born selfish? That I was born to self-centredness and bigotry and only self-indulgence? This boy who worships the ground I walk on, who thinks I am an angel on earth if there ever was one. How can I tell him?

"No! I am sorry! I did not mean it that way. Of course, you have suffered enough, you deserve peace and it is selfish of me in reality. I should not be…But I am so angry, you are everything to me."

No, Aali, I am not anything to anybody. And I learnt the truth of that a long time ago.

(2 weeks ago)

:URGENT DELIVERY:

Express O- Stamp Dated: 10th Dec 2020.

For,

Honourable Ustad Beyazlamak,

c/o Yardim Eli Assc.

REDIRECT TO : USTAD BEYAZLAMAK

C/O Olive Tower Bell Monastery,

Bellapais,

Girne'

Honourable Healer,

I am writing this letter to you as a last resort to an impossible situation. I have heard a lot of admiration for your extraordinary work in alternative healing magic through the grapevine for a few years now. I must admit , you are a difficult person to find. It has taken a lot of effort on my part to find even a reference address to reach you. But I am thankful to Yardim Eli Association who finally agreed to help me out in reaching you.

It is known widely that you are the most effective healer for curing the most mysterious magical maladies, considering your benevolent forte, I would also like to make a desperate request of you which I am hoping you will consider. It is of utmost importance to me and while I know how much it might ask of you, I am left with no other choice but to take the liberty and request this of you. If you accept or reject, it is solely in your hand.

It is just so that a loved one in my immediate family suffers from such a mysterious magical illness which the world class mainstream magical healers to date have been unable to cure.

My youngest sibling and only sister, Lily Luna, has been suffering from Magical seizures for the past nine months. The attack-like seizures started in the past March during a regular school session in Hogwarts where she read in year one. Due to gradually increasing frequency of these seizure-attacks, which start with immediate high fevers and magical backlash type of seizures her schooling had to be discontinued.

In the beginning, the seizures lasted only for a period of three minutes to four minutes and never happened more than once a day, leaving her fatigued for the rest of the day and also with an irregular magical flow for approximately two days afterwards, during which period her magical flow would range between MFF level 2 to MFF 7.8.

Once the school year was wrapped up and she was brought home, the attacks/seizures stopped for a whole month, before starting again with increased frequency (2-3 seizures/day) and longer seizure durations( 7-10 minutes).

Her appetite increased with the frequency of seizures, yet she continued to lose weight and also suffered from an increase in body temperature by 2 degrees. At this point she went through a number of magical tests to check what really ailed her. They tested her for most magical disorders known to old and modern magical healing, from magical epilepsy to Daenaryen magic disorder. She tested negative to all intrusive and non-intrusive magical tests. Meanwhile in the next two months the seizure frequency increased even more and rendered her in a constant state of delirium. Her MFF's constant fluctuating made it impossible to treat her even for the increased temperature of her body. Her health deterioration has gotten to the point that the Healers panel at St. Mungo's came to a unanimous decision to put her in a magical stasis coma, until they could figure out her ailment.

Being a second year intern at Healer's training myself and specializing in diagnostics to boot, I know that this will only delay which is seeming hopelessly inevitable at this point. I have spent hours and hours in researching the symptoms and what causes them. I have scoured all possible leads that knowledge in this part of the world provided me with, to no avail. I also branched out to researching alternative methods of healing, from Japan to Peru, from light magic therapy, to alternative black voodoo magic, but all my efforts have gone to naught and as a last resort I turn to you. I read about the six-head case that you cured an adolescent from while I was on a week long holiday in Antalya last summer. There was no direct address to you so I am sending this to Yardim Eli association under a wing of which you work. They have promised me that they will send it forward to you for which I cannot be grateful enough. I hope this letter reaches you in time. My family is in a constant state of despair as we see no hope shining for my most beloved sister, who lies in a stasiscal coma for the past whole month now.

So, I plead with you honourable Ustad, to agree to at least come see her once. Fee, assistance, logistics staying and travelling, my family is willing to provide anything you may require. Our only request is to come and see my sister once, my instinct tells me that if anyone can heal her, it is you, but as I have heard, convincing you is the toughest part of it all.

I hope you will consider this. I hope you will be able to cure her. And hope is the most precious thing that my family and I possess right now.

**A comprehensive report of all the tests conducted until now and her basic magical and physical data as well as HMC (Hereditary Magic Character) report, accompanies this letter. I plead, yet again, for the sake of my lovely little sister. I pray that you will consider treating her, you are our only hope.**

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Severus Potter

101 Bagshot Street

Godric's Hollow

(Floo Address(FIC) – "101 Bagshot Street / New Potter Residence")

I stared at the letter for what felt like an eternity. Mind blank and silent at the name printed in a neat swift hand on the lower edge of the parchment.

Albus Severus Potter.

Albus Severus Potter.

Namesake of two of the greatest wizards I ever knew and carrying the name, flesh and blood of the third one.

Albus Severus Potter.

Son of Harry James Potter.

Thinking that name alone made my insides hurt.

"Well?" I was startled out of my reverie with Aali's voice, who loomed in front of me.

I gazed at him, as I wondered how much he should be told about this?

What exactly was 'it' then? I wondered.

"Is everything okay? You look like you have seen a ghost…" Worry was now starting to show on his face. He always did read faces too well.

I wanted to say that had I really seen a ghost, I would not have feel this way at all. But something stopped me from revealing too much to Aali. Something stopped me every time.

"I'm fine. Just a little unexpected," I said vaguely enough.

"It is from home?" he asked,  blanking his face at my vagueness. This secrecy remained a sore-spot between us. And I missed the days when he only needed food, sleep, comfort and adventures.

"This is my home, Aali," I said plainly and made my way inside for a moment of peace.

Peace. What a joke.

There would be no peace now. It was gone.

Peace that I had culminated by relentless efforts during the  past twenty years. Changing everything, even the material I was made of. Peace that I had earned from hard and at times dangerous work. Peace that had come to me in its sweet time with helping those who couldn't be helped. Loving the unloved ones. Caring without prejudice. Easing pain and suffering of others, because there was no cure for mine.

In a moment I was back to wretched. I should have been above all of it by now.

A child was suffering inexplicably somewhere and I was sitting here thinking about…

I skimmed the letter again full of dread.

Lily Luna. Lily Luna Potter.

Luna. I remembered Luna. I remembered seeing her in Nicosia about a decade ago. Frazzled, but more grounded accompanied by her husband and sons, twins, identical too.

She looked happy and satisfied. Complete.

And I had felt like ripping my heart out.

Such a waste I was.

She did not recognize me though our eyes did meet across the café.

I was equally glad and sad about that.

In the weeks that she had been detained in the dungeons of the manors, we had developed a tentative friendship though we never spoke a word to each other. But I saw in her eyes the kindness and understanding that I did not find in the eyes of even my so-called best friends. Not that they knew any reason to be kind towards me. It was as if she knew my secret, as if she knew what I was suffering from. That look of kindness was the only reprieve I had for the day after. Even in the aftermath of her escape, despite the excruciating punishment I had to endure at the hands of my own aunt, I often thought about her and missed her. I could never begrudge her. But it was not so easy to flee from my own cage was it?

Potter could not have named his daughter after a better and braver witch.

It was time for me to be brave too. It was time.

A child was suffering, and even if that child belonged to Harry Potter,I would die before I fail to heal that child.

 Especially because she belonged to Harry Potter.

I would show him who I was now. I would show him change.

I owed him my life, though at times I did wish that he had not saved me.

And then bind me to a half-life.

Not that there could be any other kind of life for one such as me.

"Death Eater scum"

No, he needed to be showed this change.

I will not fail, I would die before I failed to heal a child who needed my help.

And I realized with that thought, that it may be the perfect chance to do just that. Only failure was not an option. And dying would be a reward.

"Aali!" I yelled. He knew the tone, he would come running for it.

"Ustad! What is the matter?" he was panicked, soil smeared on his face from where he had been working in the garden.

"Clean up! You have a Floo call to make."

Half an hour later we Apparated inside my office and haphazard testing lab in Nicosia. It was the nearest and safest place I knew of from where it would still be impossible to track me.

"So, what do I say?" he asked me for the umpteenth time.

"You will say that Ustad Beyazlamak is interested in taking a look at his sick sister, but will only travel so far, if his father, the legal guardian of the child and the head of the household personally calls Ustad Beyazlamak on the phone and gives his express consent that he wants Ustad Beyazlamak to treat his daughter and wants him to travel all the way to UK for this purpose. And then you will give him the phone number to the hotel suite we are staying at and ask him to call in the evening only between the hours of five and seven…UK time."

"Why are you making this so complicated? I don't understand." He was wary, he had the right to be that. I hated to make him do anything he did not want to, but here we had no choice. He was already angry about my suggestion for travelling given my condition which only he knew about. But I knew in the end, Aali would stand by all my decision, no matter how much he opposed them. I was his father, teacher, best friend all-in-one.

Giving him a stern look that would shut away all other arguments or queries to come, I answered the most obvious one.

"I am making this complicated so it will look important and they will take my treatment seriously. It is of utmost importance that we handle this right, Aali! I might be the only person who can save that little girl. And I don't want to fail for their lack of faith in my abilities, so we have to make an impression. We have to be taken seriously."

"It is not because it is Harry Potter's daughter, is it?" he asks me, a sardonic brow raised.

I froze. Did he know? How could he know? How could he? I had doubled my suffering over the years by resisting to call that name even once. I thought I had been so careful.

"This is not some celebrity thing is it Ustad? Because if it is, I must tell you it is most uncharacteristic of you and I am extremely disappointed…"

Oh. Thank you, God! He didn't know.

"No! No no no no! No such thing, you idiot! It is as I am telling you! Now just do as I say!" I shoved him towards the Floo-place. The shove was more symbolic, as I could hardly move him an inch on my own. The sturdy git.

Huffing and rolling his eyes he crouched in front of the fire place grabbing a huge fist of Floo powder from the side, piece of paper with the instructions and hotel suite phone number in hand, and threw the powder into the magic flames that still made me nauseous to look at for days once the memories hit again.

" 101 Bagshot Street, New Potter residence," he said loud and clear. All irritation and scepticism was gone from his voice. I moved to the far left window, just out of the range of the Floo view. My heart was beating so fast that I was sure it was going to leap out of my chest at any moment and bounce around the room like a rubber ball at the most inopportune moment. And this was after taking the calming draught less than ten minutes before.

The flame burned idle for ten seconds before it finally connected. International network problems.

The view of a cosy modern living room rose in the flat wall of flames with just a slight tinge of green. Just like Muggles, wizards had also made improvements in technological departments. It was only mandatory that the Potters were connected to the Ultra -9F network.

A dog lay leisurely just in front of the view. It came alert straight away as the Floo must have flared in the grate in front of which it was languishing. It scrambled up quickly and barked short loud barks with its snout turned upwards.

What was that all about?

A few seconds later someone walked into the Floo view.

And the bouncing heart stopped in my chest.

But that was just me. Frozen in time. Standing again in front of a huge Floo place, life bleeding away. Green and ashes. Memories were seeping into the present. And at the time, there was just no time for that. I will not be paralysed like this.

On a second look, I realized that though he looked extremely like young Harry Potter, this was not him, but his son. Most definitely son. Harry Potter was not a teenager anymore.

"I am calling for a Mr Albus Severus Potter on behalf of Ustad Beyazlamak," Aali said, dignified and professional, just as any assistant of a high-profile something would ask, I was oddly proud of him. Potter's child against my own. Because no matter the technicalities, Aali was my child, my son.

The boy almost leapt into the fireplace  it seemed as to how fast he crouched in front of the fireplace .

He was handsome, but looked tired and was still in some sort of pyjamas.

"YES! Yes! I am Albus Severus Potter,” he almost shouted. smoothing his dark hair with one hand for some strange reason. "I wrote the letter to the honourable Ustad. I did not think I would get a reply so quickly. Though I do hope you are calling me with good news!" He smiled nervously. Definitely not the same Potter.

The boy was blabbing.

"Well, my master has instructed me to tell you, that he is interested in treating your sister, but only on the condition that your father, the legal guardian of your sister, calls him on the telephone himself and make the request of Ustad Beyazlamak to travel all the way to the United Kingdom to treat your sister personally."

"Wow! Thank you! Thank you so much! I do not have words! My father is just upstairs, I can call him now to the Floo to make the request right now if that would be acceptable."

What? Now? No! Not face to face. Never! He would never agree to this if he knew who I really was. He cannot know before he makes the request. I want to tell Aali, but he is not looking at me. This is going to be ruined.

"No, Mr. Potter, my master is not here at the moment and he would like to receive this request personally, he is very particular with his requirements. It is the least you can do in return for the favour he is about to do you. Kindly ask your father to call him on the phone number that I will give you now, between the hours of five and seven on your side. Not before or after."

I am a little startled at how Slytherin and superior Aali sounds. I wonder if I have given him that. I had always admitted to myself at times begrudgingly enough, that had Aali ever gone to Hogwarts, he would have been sorted into Gryffindor before the hat even touched his head. For a moment, I was not so sure anymore.

"Yes, definitely yes, it would be no problem. I am sorry that I did not mention phone number in the letter, we do have one at home." The boy is smiling most hopefully. His eyes sparkling.

"Excellent, then I hope that will allow your father to call within the hours I have specified. Please note down the number…"

A few minutes later the Floo extinguishes on another special note of gratitude from the boy.

Albus Severus Potter.

He resembled his father very strongly. Same bright eyes, dark, thick indomitable hair, perfectly balanced face, though his jaw was squarer than his father's, more like his mother and had a tiny addition of a light spray of freckles on his nose and cheeks.

He had intelligence and easy charm when days were good, I could tell. But very little charisma, nothing even close to his father's.

Albus Potter in his heart of heart was a happy boy. A normal boy.

Harry Potter was a haunted one.

Which added to his mystery.

And beauty too, for those who had the eye for that kind of thing, which I did.

Harry Potter even underneath the layers of careless over-sized clothes, bedraggled hair and hideous glasses was a monument. A true hero, half god – half human. Different from everyone no matter how much he tried to pass off as ordinary and how much he tried to blend in, he stood out. He was unique. He was on a plain high above all others, without even knowing it.

I smiled at my folly. The thought that I ever held even that bleeding sliver of hope in my heart was funny.

I never stood a chance.

And now I would make sure that the chance would not stand me. 

---

 

Chapter Text

 

 

Chapter 2. Grief be Mine, I ask you so…(Harry)

 

(Dec, 20 th  2020)

There is much said about heartache.

I only wish at times that it also said that heartache could kill you.

Because then I would have the guarantee that this tragedy would kill me, eventually.

But death is the one thing that has always eluded me.

But never those whom I loved.

Never those who I needed more than breathing.

She grows frailer every single day.

My little angel, my only daughter.

It is not possible for her grow frailer or healthier in the state that she is in, but it feels so.

Like every day that passes by is a loss.

Even if her condition remains unchanged.

This is my worst nightmare. And I know that by the end of it, I will not be coming out unscathed.

I wish for a miracle every day. I have had plenty of them in my time. I want just one more and then I shall wish for nothing more.

I would happily forfeit my own life in exchange of hers if someone half asks for it.

I never thought I could be more broken than I was.

They always say, never say never.

No one has any answers. They poked her, pinned he, prodded her, but they have no answers.

It is not a potion.

It is not a curse.

They are unable to detect the source of it.

And now, the best of them says, that it is as if her natural born magic is the culprit.

I pleaded with them to take it away. We would love our child just the same provide her with the best life possible still.

But they say it is impossible as something else guards it inside her, and connects it to her very life force.

My Lily.

My sunshine.

I am losing her.

And it is unbearable.

We should never have named her Lily.

We should never have had her, we could have saved her all this pain.

But she had come most unexpectedly. In direst of times when our home was on the verge of breaking.

And we had taken her as a sign. I had taken her as a sign. To mend it all back. To finally clamp down on the feeling of not belonging. To give our family a chance.

Lily. My beautiful Lily!

You will turn my heart to stone child. Just hang in there.

Tears. Tears wash our hands, her small frail one clasped securely in mine. It was this hand when it was even smaller that had connected me back to everything. That had stopped me from floating away. That had tethered me back to it all.

"Dad?"

I am pulled out of my heart bursting grief by the voice of my son.

My other tether.

Albus.

I quickly wipe away my tears. I am needed to be strong. Albus is so positive, to see me like this would break his heart. James, may not show any love towards me, but to see me like this will affect him even more than it would Albus. I know we will never get along, but we will love each other more than anything always.

"Yeah?" I answer, keeping my back towards him.

I hear the door close as he enters.

"I thought you were going to stay home for the lunch hour…" he says his firm hand finally clasping on my shoulder.

"I wasn't very hungry, and I wanted to see Lily before I went back to work."

"Never mind, I bought some Shepherd's Pie from Gobblers, and alongside I bring some good news."

He pulls a chair in front of me and another between us before settling the paper bag on it, carefully bringing out the forks, a small container of what looks like chili-bean gravy and a hot container of one of the best Shepherd's pies in London.

Albus, always so careful about the details. So precocious. So well-mannered… So Slytherin.

It might have been a surprise for everyone when he was sorted into the house everybody loved to hate, but it was not a surprise to me.

Albus is brilliant, Albus is ambitious, curious, with a healthy dosage of pride and protectiveness, But I think it was the Calculative part of his personality that must have tipped the hat in the Slytherin direction.

A Potter in Slytherin. It had been an outrage. And then Albus, with all his charm had turned it into the most natural thing for anyone to accept. He knows very well how to manipulate people's affections. He knows very well how to get what he wants. He is a strong child.

Not a child anymore though.

He has all the things a snake is supposed to have.

And where it could have gone wrong, his mother and I had done all we could to keep things positive for him.

By the time Albus had graduated from Hogwarts. Slytherin had been back on the popularity map.

Whereas James, the epitome of Gryffindorism, had gone along the lines most Slytherins went back in our days. Complete with minions and a superiority complex. A star Quidditch player, head boy, so on and so forth. Brawny and temperamental.

All my children. So different but bonded so closely together.

Albus' way of coping with Lily's illness has been to aggressively look for a cure. Stay always at hand. Take a year break from his apprenticeship to be a constant presence at his sister's and family's side.

James way has been of staying away as far as possible. The two times he has been to see Lily in past 2 months, did not go very well, and he had ended up cutting short his break from the League Quidditch and going back to Belgium after just staying one night.

Ginny blames me. Of course she does. And as from the very beginning of our marriage. James has been and still remains a sore spot between us.

I believe she spoils him too much. Which she does.

And she believes I am too hard on him. Which I am.

But only because she is always too soft.

"I got a reply from the healer I told you about… The one in Turkey?"

Albus nudges me to start eating. Always worrying, always watching.

That is indeed good news. Any sliver of a chance, even something different at this point is a good news.

But if I remember correctly, Albus had told me that it might take at least a month to contact the… Monk healer I think it was. It was most probably a refusal if the reply had come so quickly. But Albus did say 'good news'

"That was quick. What did he have to say?"

He smiles a genuine smile. It always reminds me of Fred for some reason and I can never help smiling back.

"It was his assistant or some such person, they said that he is interested in coming to see Lily as soon as possible, but on the condition that you, her father and legal guardian talk to the Ustad over the phone and ask him personally and invite him to UK. You have to make the phone call between five and seven 'o'clock today, not before, not after, he was very specific about this and I personally think brilliant wizards, healer and monks should be indulged in their eccentricities… So you will not mess this up."

"Okay! Alright!" I raise my hands up in surrender. He must have seen skepticism on my face hence the threat. "I'll make the call, and the request, though once he is here, you are responsible."

"Goes without saying Dad… We should be ready for all eventualities. He might want to move Lily from here. I have read from his case files that he likes to create a specific environment for his healing and all, so in case it is needed, I was thinking of popping in at the townhouse and making some arrangements?"

The sparkle in his eyes can make me agree to anything. I live to see this sparkle in my children's eyes. It is all there is to me. And I have not seen it in Albus' eyes for months. I would agree to a death sentence under the daze of that sparkle. Not that I would ever let them know that. All three of them would walk all over me. Lily can be specially devious with advantages like that.

The thought alone rips my heart apart. It is a heavy day today, but it is starting to look up.

I nod at my awaiting son.

"Brilliant. So, please be home by five on all costs dad! You have to phone him between five and seven and I want to be there when you do."

He chatters all through the meal. Talking about the possibility that the Healer monk might have seen something in the reports Albus had dispatched him alongside his letter for the reply to come so quickly and positive. He is full of hopes and dreams. Spouting off medical jargon, half of which even I understand by now, being a permanent fixture at 's for so long and talking to more healers with more complicated explanations of what my daughter might and should be suffering from but never was.

We have not had hope like this for a while.

And though my heart is reluctant of the fall that seems so far eventual, I cannot help but hope.

So I smile and agree. Until it is time for me to go and check on my other obligations.

He embraces me as I make my way to the door. Eyes filled with un-shed tears, eyes, so much like my mother's Eyes so much like my Lily's.

"I really have a very good feeling about this! He has worked miracles before dad, it is why he stays so secretive, otherwise people would tear him apart to get at him. I really feel as if this is the right way… I really believe that if anyone can heal Lily, it is Beyazlamak."

I feel like exploding with the melancholy I feel for my situation and pride I feel for my son, mixing all together in this moment. And I admit that in this moment I too feel like at being at the precipice of a break-through. I need that Potter luck now. Desperately.

"I know… I have to go…"

"Yes yes, Magical Britain won't stand for a minute longer if you are not there to put the fresh toothpicks under it. But please be home around five, I have asked mum to come here then so I'll meet you at home."

"I am very proud of you my little snake." I take my leave.

---

"Victoria…" I solemnly greet my secretary as I make way to my office, noticing the waiting memos suspended in front of my door.

"Harry dear, did you have a nice lunch?" she asks standing up primly, a benevolent smile on her face. It is as if she can tell that I did have Lunch. The smile is indicative of that. The prim, stern expression means she knows that I haven't eaten anything.

So it is a smile today. Thank you Albus.

"Yes, Albus got me some Shepherd's pie, anything important?"

"Not as such, apart from a few more owls from Parkinson. She wants to meet and discuss the enforcement of the new Centaur decree passed in yesterday's session, I have owled her back on your behalf with a meeting date in March." The mischief in her eyes is not very well-concealed.

The old Battle-axe.

Pansy Parkinson is the new Dolores Umbridge of the ministry of magic and the bane of my existence. It has been two years that I have been the head of Magical Law Enforcement Department and she has done nothing but question my "mild" law enforcing methods. It has gotten to the point that even the Minister of Magic has asked his office to placate her requests for meetings.

And we are talking about Percy Weasley, who lives for the sake of meetings.

"I don't think any display of gratitude that I can offer you my lady will be sufficient for the kindness you have shown me! I am forever in your debt."

"Oh you charmer you! Get your pert arse into your office unless you have another favor to ask of me." she says, eyes sparkling even more.

"I do actually. Can you get Carlotta to run a silent inquiry for me? There is a Healer Monk somewhere in Turkey, goes by the name of Ustad Beyazlamak, can you ask her to get all information she can on him and deliver it to my office in the next hour or so?"

"Master Silver?" she says confused.

"Pardon?"

"Ustad Beyazlamak is Turkish for Master Silver, or rather become white.."

"Become white?"

"That is what Beyazlamak means, in Turkish."

"To become white?"

"That is what I said."

"That is a strange name, stranger yet that you know it's meaning."

"I lived the first fifteen years of my married life in Istanbul you know, I did pick up the language."

"So… the names like Ustad Beyazlamak are common in Turkey?"

"No, names like Ustad Beyazlamak are not, but titles are. They like to give titles to important people. For example, their revolutionary leader is Ataturk. Ataturk is not a name but an honorary title, which means Father of Turks. His real name was Mostapha Kamal, if this healer Monk is called by a title in such a casual way, it must mean he has done something heroic. Turks don't bestow titles on just anyone. They are very serious with that sort of thing. And if a monk is referred to by his title rather than his name, that means the highest honor possible is given to the said Monk."

"I see, so this Monk Healer must have done something good to get a title like… Silver? Whiten? Lighten?" this is reassuring. If he is that well-reputed, it could only be good. Albus had not gone into any details only mentioned it in passing since he was not sure if his request would even be considered for some reason. So I have not paid much attention then.

"Well, it is not the Whiten, lighten, silver part of the title really, it is the Ustad part that means it is a title given out of respect."

"That is as good as a testimonial you could get yes?"

"I should suppose so…" she says behind me as I finally make my way into my office. Memo planes following.

It all means less and less to me every passing day.

My job, the law, position, reputation, magic.

And I cannot hide behind my daughter's ailment in admittance of this fact.

It had started long before that. This feeling of despair. Melancholy.

Dissatisfaction.

This… non-pain that at times just skirts around the edges of my consciousness. It has taken years for me even diagnose it as such.

I often wonder if everyone feels this as acutely as I do. And so often.

I don't feel old, but I feel worn.

I love my family, I love my home, I even love my wife in some form still, though we are more of house-mates than spouses now, when she does allow me to stay which is often since Lily's sickness. It does not hurt as much as it should. The fact that she refused the divorce, just because she was comfortable with the security and privilege of being the wife of… Harry Potter.

I cannot blame her. I do not blame her. The blame is all mine. I should have not married her in the first place.

I had started to feel this strange despair for the first time when it had only been one month to our engagement, and it only grew.

The moment I had finished the grace period as an Auror I had pushed for marriage. Just to fill the bottomless pit inside me. I felt that marriage could fill it. I was so sure marriage would fill it. So at the age of barely Nineteen, I was standing at the alter and watching my bride walk down the aisle.

And in that second. I had recognized the wrongness of it. I had known then and there that it was not going to do anything for the emptiness. I could not feel the happiness, the joy, the love. Where had it gone? Was it ever there?

Sex filled it for short intervals. That was the only reprieve. And Ginny found me an enthusiastic lover. James came barely ten months after the wedding and Albus followed exactly a year after James.

Children filled it for a slightly longer period. I felt the happiness of a particular kind. It worked for the longest while. Until Aidan Montgomery.

I saw him on a lunch break in a muggle restaurant.

Tall, pale, blond, beautiful and refined Aidan Montgomery.

He was breath-taking.

The sexual attraction that I felt towards him was too strong to ignore. And before I knew I was crawling out of his king-size bed and healing and concealing the love-bites in his posh bathroom.

It was a whip-lash affair. I had thought that Aidan was a Muggle, but he was actually a squib and knew exactly who I was.

But to my advantage and his disadvantage, he had fallen in love.

And thanks to my lucky stars, he was a genuinely decent guy.

It went on for two months. In the beginning I did fancy myself in love. The guilt of it was over-whelming. But it was not a guilt I felt on behalf of my wife. No, I could never detect the source of that guilt, because I also felt it with Ginny, not that she ever noticed. I was still the perfect husband at home.

In two months, Aidan did realize that I did not return his feelings. And I realized that I did not want to hurt him anymore than I already had. So we parted through mutual understanding.

And Aidan moved to France, where he married a wizard and recently adopted a child. He still sends me festival greetings every now and then.

And hence the pit was wide open again, but I kept it under wraps. At times it was as if it was not there at all, and then there would be days when the void grew so oppressive that I almost lost control. It was as if I had bouts of it. I wanted to run away, do something drastic. I buried myself in work during those days. I talked less and less and worked more and more.

I got accolades for my pain of course.

We took the MLE by storm, Of course the shadow eye of that storm was Ronald Weasley and I dragged him alongside me into longest working hours possible. But together we cleaned up unnecessary rubbish in chain of commands. Simplified administrative levels. Increased efficiency. It was all necessary because since Children, we both had realized that doing Patrols was not going to cut it. We needed to make Britain safe, safest it has ever been for our children to grown up in. Neutralize any danger before it actually came into being. We Formed and trained the SWLE (Specialized Wizarding Law Enforcement) department a sort of Wizarding intelligence agency, which worked under the MLE head directly and had amalgamated the Hit-wizards and Strategic and tactical planning dept. This department in which only hand-picked wizards and witches were interned every year was responsible for the lowest crime rate Wizarding Britain had ever seen and we were soon going to be branching out into the muggle Britain, covertly of course. Something on which Hermione was working most vigorously on.

But, little did I know that there are things even I could not save my children from.

Things came to head the spring before Lily arrived just after Christmas.

Ginny had confronted me after another absent weekend. And I had exploded.

And she had exploded in return.

And in our explosion of lust filled angry sex, Lily was conceived.

And at the same time Ginny had found out that I was not in love with her… anymore.

I loved her, but I was not in love with her.

And it changed our lives yet again.

It broke her heart, I know it did because we were never the same after that but we made it work for the sake of the children. It was an easy promise to make and it stoppered my despair for some reason. Hermione and Ron also found out about the problems we were having.

Strangely Hermione approved of our decision of staying together, while Ron did not.

Though he did not express his disapproval of it out loud, he is my best friend, we are close enough to not have to use many words to express our genuine opinion.

I did not ask him the reason for it until a few months ago, almost ten years later. When all pretense of a relationship between me and Ginny even for the sake of children fell apart after Lily left for Hogwarts.

We were drinking at our favorite pub, 'mournebrating' as Ron put, the state of my marriage which was that I had moved to Grimmauld Place which we used as a townhouse at Ginny's prompting. Suddenly she could not stand "zombie" me walking around the house.

We were both drunk on Ogden's finest when he simply explained in a tone far too sober than intoxication permitted.

"You were lied to and kept from most of the truths of your life from the very beginning Harry. No one you loved and deserved full love from put you first. Yes, your mother died trying to save you, but she died Harry, she wasn't there when you needed her the most was she? And in keeping your marriage with Ginny, you were starting that whole cycle again. Hell, you started the whole cycle again in Marrying Ginny in the first place. I just thought…that you have to live for yourself some time mate.. follow your own instinct, follow what your heart wants you know. That is the reason. Ginny is my sister and she is tough, tougher than all us brothers put together, but she was never one for you Harry. If it came as a surprise to her on Lily's birth that you were not in love with her, she only has herself to blame. You never fell in love with her. She was just always there, she was easy. She was not the one Harry. Not for you, not the way Hermione is for me. Ginny is for you like Lavender Brown was for me. Just there, taking the opportunity, we are blokes, we will always want the easy way out, and we will always snog the blonde if she is throwing herself at us, but there is only one Bushy haired gorgeous girl that would make my heart skip a beat with her smiles. Of all the people in the world Harry, you should have been the last one to settle. But you did. And here we are… Mournebrating the disintegration of your sham of a marriage... A toast!" he raised his glass and shocked half out of my mind I raised my glass too, to touch to his.

"To model husbands…" he shouted.

"To model husbands…" I replied, alongside half the pub feeling more alert and free than I had in past 20 years.

The next morning I got the floo call from Hogwarts which changed our lives yet again.

The end of answering memos is what brings me out of my brooding and when I finally put the quill down, Victoria enters.

"I am afraid, this is all Carlotta could get regarding your query." She hands me a parchment, which should not be a parchment at all, but a proper folder.

Carlotta is a whiz with enquiries and records and this is disappointing.

There is no picture of Beyazlamak. Only an address for an office in Nicosia.

And copy of an authorization certificate from some association called "Yardim Eli"

"Yardim Eli?"

"Means, 'a helping hand'. It is well-known philanthropic wizarding association, they work all over the Asian continent and are active in the Mediterranean. In fact, I think in Britain, they collaborate with the committee that works under Mrs. Audrey Weasley, the Minister's wife. Glowing wands… They have a one student scholarship quota with both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons." She says handing me, thankfully a bunch of papers with information regarding Yardim Eli. I skim through it. Complete with the list of students that have studied under the scholarship. Few of which are still in Britain.

"Really? Do we have any of these scholarship students working here in the ministry?"

"Yes, there is a young sweet witch in Transportation. Aliya Dawood, Algerian I think."

"Check if she is on shift, and send for her immediately if she is."

"This sounds very serious, is something the matter?" she asks me, a small frown gracing her gracefully aged face.

"I would just like to know more about the man who I am going to hand my daughter's life in, that is all.." she freezes in her preparation to depart and straightens to look at me with her still sharp light brown eyes. I call them the Ravenclaw eyes.

"I don't remember you enquiring about all the healers at St. Mungo's who prodded and poked at that dear child relentlessly without even giving a single positive answer. Are you going to refuse help from this monk healer if his credentials fails to check out to your satisfaction? What were your credentials when you were made to stand against the darkest wizard the world has ever known Harry? A prophecy made by a mad as a hatter Divinity professor?"

"What are you suggesting then? That I should not enquire about this Monk healer? That I should just…"

"Trust your son's instinct, yes. He is the only one who has any faith in Lily's recovery Harry, let us be honest. If you refuse this healer's help and Merlin forbid Lily goes anyway, you will not lose one child but two Harry. Albus will never forgive you your skepticism."

And that is the truth of the matter. If Hermione and more importantly Rose's efforts have not bore any fruit then I have little faith anything else will. Rose does not believe that Lily can be saved anymore, but she still helps her best friend Albus with all his research and extra work. Both are training healers and would graduate in a year or so. Rose in counter healing dark magics and Albus in Diagnostics.

Perhaps I should let it go. Victoria is of course right. I do not want to lose Albus too and my refusal would break his heart and actually I have already said yes, so all this running around will not help much. Perhaps I should just let fate do its thing now. I nod at awaiting Victoria solemnly and she smiles a tight proud smile in return.

"You need to get going in next fifteen minutes to make that phone call." She says as she is stepping out again.

"How do you…?" it is of no use. She smiles at me smugly before closing the door behind her. Of course.

Victoria knows everything. Just like Molly Weasley, who she is the childhood best friend of. And who recommended Miss Victoria Hoult to me in the first place. 'Like the Novellist dear, but with an added U…'

Which is why she is indispensible. Just like Molly Weasley. The good-for-everything, nit-picking, all knowing old hags. Oh how I love them.

---

It is still ten minutes to five, but Albus is pacing the length of the living room. While Bilbo, our dog watches him warily from his spot in front of the floo place. He darts to me just as I step out of it. The Dog. My son is still pacing on his strange route. I watch him while he ignores me and keeps pacing and I realize that the cordless phone on its cradle is the center-point of his pacing route.

I remove my cloak and then the auror robe. It's drab and cold in London, but the chances of a white Christmas are slim. Here in Godric's hollow, it is snowing almost daily and we are bound to have nothing but a white Christmas it seems.

"You should have given them the phone number of the Grimmauld place. Now I will have to floo to 's."

"I did not give them any number, they gave me theirs Dad. And asked to call between five and seven."

"And that couldn't be done from Grimmauld place?"

"It did not occur to me." he says before making his way to the kitchen.

I sit down on the couch by the phone and it is not long before my lap is full of a russet beast of a Labrador. He is the fourth child of the family. Lily's first pet ever. Which she named after her favorite character from her favorite book. The only one she could pronounce fast enough repetitively. Bilbo.

Bilbo too suffers just like the rest of us in Lily's absence and wouldn't eat properly at first when Lily had to be admitted to St. Mungo's. Slowly and resiliently, Albus got through to the mutt and now Bilbo can often be found sleeping on top or just beside Albus protectively.

And guards the floo like always.

I run my fingers soothingly into its beautifully kept russet pelt. It is more to comfort me than him. Albus comes back a few minutes later with a mug of steaming hot tea. And picks phone from its cradle before sitting next to me and dialing a really long number. From memory.

Of course. Albus Severus Potter does not rely on pesky little parchment pieces. His greatest weapon and asset is his mind. At times I can see something of Snape in him clear as day, especially when he is angry, he tends to mince his words between his gritted teeth eerily like the old dungeon bat.

He hands me the phone after turning on the speaker and takes a sip of his tea.

The line rings four times until it is answered.

"Yes?" the greeting is soft voiced, almost shy, but curt.

"Is this Ustad Beyazlamak speaking?" I ask just as politely and curtly. This is for the sake of my son.

"Yes, it is Beyazlamak." The way he says Beyazlamak is distinctly different from how we pronounce it and I see Albus mouthing it as well.

"This is Harry James Potter. I am calling you on behalf of my son, who wrote you a letter regarding the condition of my daughter. Your… associate mentioned that you wanted me to personally speak with you and make the request?"

"Lily Luna yes?" comes after a slight pause.

I shoot a look at Albus, who shrugs at me to go along with it and just agree.

"Yes Lily Luna, my youngest, who is suffering from mystery magical seizures."

There is another pause.

"Well?" he asks me after the pause. This is getting strange now.

"Well, what? You asked me to call? So I am calling…" Albus is paling now. And I am losing patience.

"Calling for what?" he asks, tone still the exact same.

"Calling to make the request, of course." I answer the infuriating man. Is he absolutely barmy.

"Request regarding what?" he asks in the same calm soft and curt tone.

"What the…" Albus' clamped hand on my arm is the only thing that makes me stop from insulting the moron. And Albus thinks this man can cure my Lily? I take a deep calming breath.

"You associate said that I needed to call you and ask you personally to kindly visit us in Britain and take the case of my daughter. To heal her of her malady."

"And are you requesting that I come all the way to Britain to heal your daughter of her mysterious illness? Because you keep on repeating what my assistant asked you, told you and why you are calling…" It is the longest he has spoken and I recognize his accent as British. It is clear as a bell. So he is most probably British or has spent a considerable amount of time in Britain.

I shoot a glare at Albus, who is smiling now in a strange way, as if delighted.

"Just say the words Dad…" he whispers chuckling slowly.

"Yes, I am requesting that, I want you to come to Britain, and treat my daughter, and heal her. I ask this of you as her father and legal guardian. And I will provide with whatever you may require during the course of my daughter's treatment. Transport, lodgings, expenses, fee, anything. Will you accept?"

"Yes I will accept. I shall be there on approaching Saturday afternoon." He says plainly.

"I can arrange a port key for you if…"

"No, that will not be necessary, I can find my own way to Britain. I shall meet you and young Mr. Potter at the Hospital. Do give him my regards and tell him that his comprehensive test report was very nicely compiled. You must be very proud of him."

Albus is literally blushing and glowing at the praise. This means a lot to him.

"I am, very proud of him." I say ruffling his hair with my free hand.

"Yes. Good evening." Comes the polite soft and curt reply before it is disconnected.

I stare at the phone in my hand.

"Appalling telephone manners that man has." I say plainly to barely sitting son of mine. If anyone can jump while sitting and only moving their arms, Albus can.

"Oh dad! He is brilliant! It is finally happening dad. That man will heal Lily. She will be good as new! You'll see."

"How did you deduce that from the conversation that just happened? Please enlighten me as well."

"Oh, you won't get it Dad, even if I explained it to you. But rest assured, that Lily is going to be alright."

He jumps up from the couch, unsettling Bilbo who is also on alert now noticing the excitement of his master.

"Your Tea dad! It is getting cold. I need to go and make some detailed diagnostics reports to assist him when he comes here and I need to write an application to get some days off from the internship."

I watch him rush up stairs with a child-like glee and it makes the whole house seem lighter. I see Bilbo standing in front of me and watching my face attentively.

"His accent was very British wasn't it?" I ask Bilbo. Who just turns his head to the side inquisitively.

"And he sounded… familiar, didn't he?" Bilbo blinks I imagine with an expression of curiosity.

"No… not British… Almost Welsh…? But it was covered… wasn't it?" Bilbo sits on his hind legs, looking expectant.

"I am sodding Harry Potter. I know a covered accent when I hear one. Let us just hope that Albus will not be heart-broken, like the rest of us Bilbo. Let us just hope for the best yes?"

The Dog gives a small bark, as if agreering and climbs into my lap again. The tea is indeed still scalding hot. Sneaky Albus.

---

TBC

Chapter Text

 

---

 

Chapter 3. The steps that took me away, left behind my soul to stay...

 

 

"This is all we have. I do not know how we are going to get through the next time if you take all of this now." Aali is sulking again. I know he does not like it when I travel alone.

"We'll make do, I will prepare some more when I get back." I answer to placate him, I am almost sure that I will not need it by the next time. Fourteen vials for fourteen days. I will have to return within two weeks. Then I will have roughly month and a half to prepare a batch which will be cutting it really close, though I doubt it would be necessary.

"I have never seen you use it ever during regular days, despite the fact that it would make things so much easier for you. So you are definitely lying about something. Either you are lying about how many days treating this child is going to require, just to leave me behind or this is something really dangerous and you don't want me involved." He is trying to corner me into taking him with me. But I can't. I wish he would stop nagging me, there is only so much I can endure. The freedom is calling to me. Even if I know it is a flame to my soul which is a moth and that it will kill me surely. I need to go. And Aali is not going to stop me.

He is right that I never take it on regular days. The Veela-repressent potion. For past twenty years I have only taken it during my yearly heat which comes every spring without fail. But where I am going and who I will probably be seeing each and every day I will need it.

It is true that I have lived half potential. A life of weakness and constant pain and longing. Not to downplay the impossible to ignore, painful like a deep bleeding and festering gash across your chest, longing. Longing that is the deepest part of my instinct. Longing that has been burning my insides like cinder for two long decades. Rejection that burns with every breath, bleeding seething rejection that haunts every crevice of my psyche and wounds my soul some more every single day. Rejection which is like being bound above a spitfire on a constant turn. The human me can rationalize it, does rationalize it, but the Veela does not, it calls and longs and desires for what it does and there is only so much you can fight only so much you can endure, this bone deep and constantly aching. Like a cancer spreading slowly through one's veins.

I have lasted this long incredibly because of the potion, but even that has it's expiry date, but more than the potion my endurance's expiry date is coming closer. I don't think I have it in me to trudge along five more years or so. This trip will help me burn out faster. Being close and then pulling far will surely do it. Withdrawal will be the last nail and I will be free.

Aali will not understand it, because he can never feel it or be it. He thinks I am a masochist to not demand a blood duel for claiming my mate. How can I make him understand? That even if I can win my mate through a blood duel faster than a blink, I won't be winning his heart. That was always the impossible part.

I have endured it all without fail and now is not the time to give in to temptation. I would not ruin this chance, just to face irrevocable rejection again. I have lived all my life in rejection and agony, I will not die in rejection even if agony will still be there and grow exponentially until the end. I have lived a life of banishment due to someone else's ignorance and moment of anger. But I will die on my own terms, even if it is the last thing I do. I have paid for my sins in the harshest possible way. I have more than done my due. I have made this world a better place by sheer force of will and dedication.

So I will take this potion because I will need it when I will be in such close proximity of the one who is the reason for it all, while I cure his child. I will need it like I needed it in my last year at Hogwarts and the two years after when I was on house arrest during which the only thing I did was brew the potion and perfect it for daily consumption. The widely known and used Veela-repressent potion takes more than three months to brew and is easily detectable. The Veela-repressent that Severus devised is virtually undetectable and takes Forty-two days in brewing. It is a difficult potion to brew, but incredibly uses all easily available and ordinary ingredients with the exception of Bluebell sickle-berries which are rare. But Severus had left me seeds and instruction to planting it and I now have an impressive bush of it growing in my garden. Of course the plant is so ordinary looking and so rare that most people do not know what it is.

"Think what you may. I will not change my mind. I need you to stay behind for Sarah, who if you remember is your wife and six months pregnant with your child and for the Twirlezil bush which only you can take care of in my absence. Not to mention the hours at the monastery. Only you can be my replacement and you know it. So I will not hear another word on this subject. You will stay and I will return within two weeks." I finally zip up the potion and ingredients case which I need to take with me.

The sulk continues the rest of the day while I make necessary arrangements for travel. I will be port-keying to Istanbul in the morning from Nicosia and then to Paris just to lay a nice trail in case it is looked into before finally port-keying to St. Mungo's.

The night when it comes, brings with it the time to recall the inevitable. The voice. Still familiar like it never stopped speaking to me. Familiar because never a day has gone by when I have not heard it in my broken dreams. It is still the same but also so different.

He gets angry with me even when he does not have the slightest idea who I actually am and only that I might hold the key and skills to save his ailing child. I could not help it. The last we were in presence of each other I had not gotten a chance to say more than a few words to him. No the few words I had not spoken to him but in his presence had doomed me to this fate. To him I had only said two words. His name, and plea to listen to my case.

But he hadn't. he had not given me chance.

I don't blame him really. I am incapable of it.

I only blame my fate. That had made me a freak amongst freaks.

And had chosen Harry Potter the mate of the veela that had manifested inside me for unknown reasons at the age of seventeen.

I do have several theories regarding it.

Malfoys and Blacks both had Veela blood along the lines. It was a regular practice between pure-blood families because Veela magic was so much superior to normal wizards. And once a veela had chosen a mate, the bond was encouraged.

In the past few generations none of the off-spring had dominant Veela genes.

Freak of fate as I was, it decided to manifest itself inside me. I was the first wizard born in 7 generations with dominant Veela genes. Though it would not be known until I turned sixteen and the first symptoms started to show up.

The trigger was of course, torture.

My failure to kill Dumbledore had put me in the line of fire.

And refusing to recognize and give away Harry Potter who had somehow got caught by snatchers had brought me into the embrace of fire.

Not only was I a constant target after that.

His taking and then using of my wand had bound me to him. Forced me into maturity in the aftermath. As with a wizard Veela, the presenting of his wand to its potential mate is a binding, in exchange of which the mate gives them their blood completing the binding ritual.

Courtesy suggests that if a Veela makes the proposition and presents a wand to his desired mate, the mate should never take it and refuse the binding, which will keep Veela free of any magical attachments and they can easily move on and find another suitable mate.

Taking of the wand and using it to caste magic binds the veela. As a wizard veela's wand is much more important to the veela than a normal wizard's wand is to that wizard. A veela inlays a part of his primal core magic when he uses it after hitting puberty. Hence the veela and wand become one.

When the mate takes the wand and castes magic from it, they are accepting the part of Veela's core magic and laying a claim to it. It is an acceptance to a partnership. If the potential mate takes the wand, uses it and returns it before presenting the blood in exchange, it is a rejection. Which essentially destroys the veela.

This catch is present in the binding magic for clear reasons. A male veela, unlike the female veela is always dominant. Powerful and protective, this rule keeps him in constant check that the veela does not ever abuse his hold on his mate. The heats in male veela are not always for the reasons of reproduction but for re-enforcing their bond with their mate.

Guess who got the short-end of that deal.

Harry Potter was the only potential mate I ever came across. If my incapability of casting really harmful magic against him was not an indication, then finding me in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory without knowing how I got there in that dreaded seventh year was a sign enough. I was lucky that by that time most of the Gryffindors had been hiding in the Room of requirement.

Severus had seen the signs too. And worked day and night alongside the other million impossible things he was doing to prepare an undetectable Veela-repressent potion.

And then Harry Potter had to show up at the Malfoy manor alongside Hermione Granger.

I would have known him in the crowd of a million Harry Potter impostors.

His scent was over-whelming. His presence a balm against my frayed nerves and his situation a solid threat against my instinct.

I had almost lost control.

And then he had taken my wand, when I was about to try a rescue.

I had not known the consequences of that little action then.

But I had known the consequences full well when he had returned it. Throwing it in my face after using it for three longs years.

He had not known that he had bonded me to him.

He had not known that he had the power to make me obey him.

He could not have done me more damage and more severely had he genuinely intended to as much he did without even knowing it.

It is ironic really.

As if rejection was not enough. I had to be banished as well.

It was necessary that he himself ended the banishment. Will me to be there.

I have tricked him into it. I am a Slytherin after all.

But it is a necessity.

And now this tale of pain and agony is finally going to come to an end.

Though, there is the chance that he will banish me again straight away as soon as he realizes who Ustad Beyazlamak is. This time I will be ready for him though. This time I will make sure he hears me first.

I plan to offer him an unbreakable vow against his insecurities and mistrust. It will be pretty safe as I wish nothing more than to cure his daughter. Genuinely.

Whatever I get in return is not something that will affect him or his family.

It will just have to be clean. I need to be focused on the task. I have poured more than enough over the child's report that came with the letter. I see some discrepancies which only my healer instinct picked up and I won't be able to solidly hypothesize until I see the girl myself.

By the time the sun is peeking through the horizon. I am absolutely ready to go. But I wait. Something is clinging inside me to this life, which will never be the same again by the time I will be back. If I will be back.

I sit down for my usual breakfast. Jam with a slice of sugar cake Sarah Bakes for me every now and then, and a cup of sweetened tea.

"You have to take great care of him Sarah. You are good for him." I say to her as she arranges the cabinets unnecessarily. She stops for a moment with defeated sigh she closes the tea-service cabinet, her small petite frame impossible rigid. It can't be good for her.

Her bright brown eyes when they settle on to me are sad. Sadder than I have ever seen them. She carelessly shoves her loosened black as coal ponytail behind her shoulder.

She is pretty in her special way. Petite, delicate looking but tough and nails. The amalgamation of Caucasian and Asian has unraveled beautifully in her and if she was a little conscious of herself she could have been a sight to behold.

I cured Sarah of a nightshade poisoning when she was a little girl of twelve and lived in a small settlement just at the base of the hill on which the monastery was situated. She had never stopped dogging me after that. At first Aali used to be irritated by her constant presence after school but then slowly they developed a friendship and I had always known that it would eventually turn into love. They were just so opposite and alike at the same time. She was a Muggle-born witch and at times reminded me very strongly of Granger.

Aali came from a long line of feuding Greek-Cypriot pure-blood wizarding family and his own uncle had murdered his parents. Aali had somehow escaped and after wandering around for more than two months had found his way into my backyard. On the brink of collapse.

This is my legacy I realize. Aali and Sarah. I have raised Aali and mentored Sarah. And now they are their own people. Amazing healers, independent, have found true love in life and are bringing together another human into this world.

I have done my due.

At age of Forty-one, Draco Malfoy Aka Ustad Beyazlamak will become a grandparent.

Given that he lives to see it. Which is unlikely and unfortunate.

But let this be a lesson to all, to choose your own time and take that chance.

She just nods her head at me and quietly makes her way to the garden.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

I don't look like someone who could be a grandfather.

An Uncle yes. Perhaps.

I know I have an impact on people when they meet me.

Dominant Male Veelas are rare and getting even rarer as time passes.

Most people don't even recognize us anymore.

True that because of the rejection, the allure is tamped down.

But even without it, I know I am a sight to behold.

Long silver hair which, having lost the gold in them as I have lost most of the color over the years.

Narrow line of my body is not because of the bone structure but the… circumstances.

I have never gotten to my full-potential because I have never had a day with none of my Veela repressed and after that rejected.

So I remain lithe. Slender. Face still narrow and features still more like my mother's than my father's.

Paleness of my skin remains despite living in the Mediterranean, which is actually why I was given the title. It is more descriptive and Ironic at the same time. Beyazlamak means 'to whiten' which is exactly how anyone would describe me. I am white and pale and silver and get whiter, paler and silverer every day.

And they haven't seen my wings yet or that name and title would be re-enforced twice more. I am thankful that they only sprout during the heats and I am usually indoors and isolated at that particular time.

I look down at my hands. Noticing the glass like sheen in my nails. Once I take the potion the sheen will blur and make my nails look ordinary. My hands, fingers, skin, eyes, everything will dull down once the potion starts its work.

It will help with the pain too.

The constant tug that starts somewhere in my throat and travels down to my navel.

I don't know how I had kept my voice steady on the phone when I spoke with him.

The shudder that had taken hold of me had made my decision then and there that I will have to take the potion constantly. That was the only way I would be able to concentrate enough to fix his daughter.

Fix his daughter. I can't say that an end to this pain and agony is the only motivation behind this decision.

Some deep yet unavoidable part of me wants him to feel something other than hatred for me. It is a soul deep desire. I had never fooled myself to think I would ever have his love, in any form or way. I am almost sure that the thought of me has never even passed his mind in past twenty years. While every breath I had taken, feeling the pull of him on my psyche even from this much distance has never let me stop thinking about him.

Respect? Gratitude? Yes, that is what I can hope for if I am successful in curing his child. And then I can finish this business with at least one triumph.

He evened out the life-debt with me. I saved him in Malfoy Manor, he saved me in the room of lost things. The boy that is frozen somewhere inside me and refuses to grow up, thinks it would be a final victory. Harry Potter will owe me once more. And will have no way to repay the debt as I will be long gone. That is if he cares to.

I open the drawer of my study desk that is situated just in front of the French window and take out the black-stained wooden box that carries one of my most prized possessions. The one thing that gave away my soul so easily into the hands of the one who saw no use for it.

The wand. That remained in possession of Harry Potter for three long years. The possession of this wand made him the master of the Elder Wand. The wand which he threw back in my face. Refusing to return the core magic that had also gone into his possession alongside it. What use is this piece of wood to me? Apart from the fact that it is still dipped in the scent of him. Still has the scorch marks from when it fought flawlessly for the savior of the world.

My heart beats frantically as my shoulder blades and finger tips itch. The Veela inside me recognizes the scent of his mate. And then the acute despair at him not being present.

Yes, my decision is right.

If Aali had felt such despair for twenty years straight he would understand.

Keeping the wand in hand I uncork the potion bottle swirling the dark lilac liquid inside twice before I drink it down in one swallow.

The silky slide of the tangy liquid goes smoothly down my palate. Warming and soothing. Soon the haze of soothed nerves is all I can feel. The sheer contrast of it from the sharp acute itching and restlessness is nothing less than a blessing. After resting and breathing deeply for a moment or two I finally bring the wand nearer to my face and inhale deeply.

The scent is still the most prominent thing, but it is tamped down. Not as strong or over-whelming as it was before drinking the potion.

The despair and the instinctual longing search is also quiet.

Very few people know how it is to live with an animal lurking inside them.

Even fewer know how it is to live with a being inside them.

A being, stronger, smarter, more magical and more instinctual.

No I don't suppose anyone who doesn't suffer from it will understand how it feels.

Satisfied with the reaction of the potion, I summon my travelling cloak, A sandy Dove grey coloured one, hand-knitted by mountain elves of Ulan Bator. Presented to me as a gift for my healing services. It is but one of thousands stored carefully in this house. I have given a list of things to Aali to be sent to the manor from my hoard of magical gifts. If all else fails, there are a few I can give a try to heal her. I remember that I will also need to settle the matter of my estate and nominate my heir.

I am glad I have someone in mind.

It was never easy for me to leave my identity behind like a snake sheds skin. But it had to be done and I have never had an easy time with it.

You see my banishment wasn't just from my homeland.

In his ignorance, atrocious ignorance he had banished me from my identity as well.

Ordered me to die a nameless death. And a nameless death can only come if you live a nameless life. In an obscure part of the world. So I had wandered to more and more obscure parts of the world. Even by muggle standards.

Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Estonia…gathering skills all over the place, healing mostly. North Cyprus is by far the most developed place I have lived in and it is not even present on most maps. The confusion regarding its status as a country and state is what makes it so perfectly obscure. Where the local muggles consider it a state under Turkish rule, the wizarding community consider it still a part of actual Cyprus. It helps that there is no actual wizarding community in Kyrenia only a small street with a few houses of wizards and of course the monastery which is the also the only institute that trains young witches and wizards in most Kyrenia and adjacent districts and is also perhaps the only magical healing facility in all of Cyprus. There is a small blooming wizard town in Lefkosa, the capital though. Which is well and good.

North Cyprus' sleepiness and insistence on not becoming popular is what made me make it my home. It's beauty and serenity is just a bonus.

I look up at the brooding sky as I make my way out of my Villa. I have lived in it for over ten years now. It is modern and very muggle. Rather smallish with three bedrooms, but that is just what it looks like. It was made by a great Turkish wizard architect who inlaid very strong protection and concealment spells on it while it was being built. Turkish are known all over the world for their Magical prowess when it comes to architecture and building. There is a reason the old Watch castle on the western shore remains intact after seeing two millennia worth of war and constant use. There is a reason the old monastery, turned abbey turned monastery again stands perfectly intact after hundreds of years of usage. This house has been home for a long time.

I would have made it magical if it wasn't because I had not chosen it for the magic in the first place. I only chose it for the First floor Bedroom adjacent study and large terrace space that looks over the monastery on one side and Kyrenia on the other facing to the north east which is perfect to grow herbal potion ingredients. And of course the garden space surrounding the house to cultivate some more difficult specimen.

Aali used to live in the bedroom downstairs but had moved into a small apartment in a muggle complex just five minutes' walk down hill. Not that he ever deigns to trek all the way, up or down. He's lazy enough to never take the brisk walk up or down and hasty enough to never stop and smell the flowers.

It is just so that it always rains on the significant days of my life. In North Cyprus, it only rains a few times every year and most of it happen during the winter months. As it happens today is one of those days. I slide out my wand from my pocket sleeve. It is not the one that binded me to my fate but another that is unique in its make. Sacred Olive wood and veela hair. It is a strange stale grey colour because of the mature wood and strange coloured wood it is made of. Monotone like the rest of me. It works for me very nicely and could have been temperamental but the Olive wood has a warm and meditative nature which neutralizes the volatility of Veela hair core. The hair came from me of course which makes this that much more efficient, like an extension of myself.

I look back once I reach the Wrought Iron garden gate and see Sarah and Aali standing just by the door to the house their faces grim. I smile a reassuring smile and turn away.

This isn't good bye.

 

---

It is as if the whole world is mourning my return white. The snow is much the rule in Wiltshire and I am surprised at how much I have missed it. Not the snow in general really, but the snow here. I am thankful for the tall shoes I had decided to wear because the snow is thick. I trudge along where I remember the pathway use to be until I reach the old and brittle looking Wrought-iron gate.

The Manor is pretty much the same. The Christmas decorations are up in the snowed-in garden. And there is only one part of the manor lit up.

I know that I can't stay. But I can't help wanting to stand here and stare at my childhood home where I was once such a carefree boy. It is good that the House-elves have kept it in such good shape. I remember the words my father used to repeat often.. before everything fell apart.

"This all belongs to you Draco, but mind you, never let the responsibility of it bog you down my son, the estate runs the estate, were you to not touch it ever for decades and decades, it will still run itself. And that my son is the advantage of good and sound investments. It is an extra good sense every Malfoy is born with. Cultivate yours."

I wonder if he had said it one of the countless times in a prophetic time slot.

It is almost after two decades of absence that I return.

And it is still just as it was when I had left it.

Just like I remember it from countless yuletides of my childhood. I can almost see a blond haired boy playing in the snow with house-elves dashing about and his mother and father sitting on one of the many wrought iron benches and criticizing on his attempts at making the perfect snowman. Father ordered the house-elf assigned to me to make sure that the snow man never failed to stand up straight and once I was done it was magicked into the most perfect snow man ever.

No matter what people might think. Someone loved that boy, if only it spoiled him endlessly. He was loved, remembered, adored and never rejected. Ignored at times yes. But never rejected. That boy had not known the dark legacy of being a follower of a maniac, his grandfather and great grandfather had left behind. That little boy's father had never let him fully understand the horror that was Voldemort until it was too late.

I can still remember the haunted tears of my father as I was allowed to visit him the one time a few days before he was scheduled to get the kiss.

He had begged me for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what his bad decisions had turned our lives into. He was already a broken man by then. I wondered what more could the Dementor take from him.

I had promised myself that day that I will always remember him as he was before I went to Hogwarts.

This house is full of lovely memories of my childhood.

It is a shame that it is the place most of my nightmares also took place in and in the end when one undoes the other the only thing left behind is blank numbness.

That is enough to sober me up from my nostalgic bout. The reality of things is too much to bear down.

I turn away from the manor and swiftly walk towards the apparition point to disapparate to London.

I am thankful that the apparition Point just outside the door to 's is the same as it was twenty years ago.

The landscape has not changed as much as the environment has. Since the war, the new freedom has brought in a lot of innovation especially with the celebration of Muggle culture that become more and more evident between wizarding communities across the world. For example. Everyone has a mobile phone. Be it witch, wizard, muggle, squib.

They all have the blasted thing. It is just easier communication. Of course the wizards have modified theirs enough to have almost ever-lasting battery. Lazy sods that they are.

Then there is the check point system and the memo-mirrors surveillance. They say it is much safer now since the amazing Hero of the wizarding world Harry Potter became the head of Magical Law enforcement. They say the current minister of magic, none other than the git Percy Weasley is just a puppet in Harry Potter's hand.

I personally do not know what to believe. Truth be told, I avoided most news like the plague. It was not my world anymore so I kept no track of it. I did not want to add to my already miserable circumstance.

I do realize that I am dressed quiet strangely and I am thankful for the presence of mind to cast a notice-me-not from when I was at the manor. I flick my wand to conjure a tempus and see that it is almost four in the afternoon; I am a few minutes earlier than I intended to be. It is raining here in London too, though it is a slight drizzle very reminiscent of the last time I was here and I am glad for a moment that things around here have changed so much.

Gathering myself and thoughts I finally step out of the Apparition booth. Pressing my wand tip to the identification pad and I am successfully recognized as Ustad Beyazlamak. I have a former patient to thank for that who was kind enough to unweave the magic enough to enter this identity and wand character. But then again, I really had saved his life and undone an almost impossible dark curse. A dark curse to which in the modern magical healing there is no reversal. I used a special method I had learnt from the Peers in Pakistan involving a plant called Tulsi and some spell work in Hindko.

I am hoping to use all my acquired knowledge to cure the little girl who lies in stasis inside the hospital. Is it cruel of me that I am waiting here? That I seem to be freezing in terror and apprehension?

The question is, what could be worse than what had already happened to me? There is no logic behind panic. There is no logic behind this needless tittering. Suddenly my heartbeat is too loud. My breaths are coming too soon.

I need to gather myself even more than I have because I have not even seen him yet and I feel like I am falling to pieces. No, it is all in my head. All in my emotions. None of this instability is real. My instincts are fully under control and the veela is calm and collected. This is just me. Cowardly Draco Malfoy.

"Get yourself together boy!" I hear my father's snarl echoing in the deep crevices of memory. It is the right push. I am not a coward anymore. In fact, by the time I am done, I will make the whole world see that I was never a coward. Fragile? Yes. Coward? No.

I uncurl the collar of my Dove grey cloak and cross the bustling street. Once I enter the sliding doors The warmth of the hospital reception hits me like a balm. I undo the clasp of my cloak slowly, buying time and remove my satchel while I look around. My clothes underneath are muggle, to which I switched a long time ago. It seems so has the rest of the wizarding world. I turn a critical eye to myself noticing that my cardigan and dress shirt are all in proper order before I remove the notice-me-not and make my way towards the elaborate reception desk. The witch working behind the desk looks up from the file. I smile my politest smile. She is youngish and very short. She must have a hard time looking down from behind this tall desk.

"Good afternoon, I am here to see Miss Lily Luna Potter. I was invited by her father as a special consultant, my name is Beyazlamak. If you could be so kind as to direct me to her ward?"

I realize that she is not hearing a word I am saying, her wide eyes are fixed on my face and her mouth is slightly open but not a word is registering.

Oh yes. The looks. I forgot about that. Though the potion should have tamped it down.

Must be the hair.

I look at the badge pinned on her. "Lucinda"

"Lucinda?" I say a little firmly than before.

It startles her out of her daze.

"Oh E-E-Excuse me… h-h-how can I help you s-s-sir?"

I hate making people feel this way.

"I am here to see Lily Luna Potter. Can you possibly direct me to her or maybe you can direct me to Mr. Albus Potter?" I am grateful that my query is finally recognized.

She is about to say when with a bustle a group of people enters. I turn to look and it is like a dead weight settles in my gut.

It is Granger and Weasley. They have aged, but Granger looks much better than I remember seeing her and Weasley though is a little bulky also seems to have aged better than most. Accompanying them is a younger looking version of Granger but with red curls and freckles. She is a pretty girl and has the same keen intelligent shine in her eyes that annoyed me so much in Granger. Dear god how petty I used to be. How mean!

This must be their daughter. Oh dear God. I am not ready for this! Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

I should have ignored the bloody letter. I should have stayed in my villa on the hill and cure common colds and snotty noses.

But then Lily Luna would have died and I would have never forgiven myself. For not saving an innocent child, for hurting Harry so irrevocably.

No. I have to do this. Only I can. She might still not survive but I will have done my part. I turn back towards the witch behind the desk. Granger and Weasley are deep in a hushed conversation and pass by without noticing me thank fully. And I am almost easing when their daughter suddenly comes and stands next to me.

"Miss Weasley! Mister…." She trails off and looks up at me questioningly. I take a deep breath. There is nothing to it. They have to know who I am.

"Beyazlamak, Ustad Beyazlamak."

"Yes… he is looking…"

"Beyazlamak!?" Miss Weasley even sounds exactly like her mother. I turn towards her reluctantly with a polite smile.

"Yes, I was invited to check on Miss Lily Luna Potter? I am looking for a Mister Albus Potter?"

"Oh dear Merlin! You…." Her blue eyes, her father's, are wide too. I notice that she carries a teal green robe on her arm. A healer in training. She can't be older than eighteen though. It seems that everyone just married straight out of the war and reproduced just as quickly. With the exception of me.

"I am Rose Weasley. Lily Luna is my cousin." She has finally composed herself quickly enough. She is holds out her hand for a shake.

"Miss Weasley…" I nod and take her hand politely.

Suddenly her eyes are shining and wet.

"I cannot tell you what an honour it is sir, to finally meet you. When Albus told me you were coming I could not believe it. But here you are. And nothing at all like I expected. You are so much…." She pauses for a moment and I can see a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Oh dear merlin. Save me from young girls and unwanted admiration.

I must admit though that part of me still finds it flattering. This is the real me. Not the veela me that is having this effect on her.

"Rose?" I hear someone call from behind me.

She still has hold of my hand.

"Albus! There you are! He is here!" she finally lets go of my hand and gives me a chance to turn around.

I recognize him without fail.

Only he is much better looking in reality.

My heart clenches at the resemblance.

He is making his way towards us with a frown.

"Albus… This is Ustad Beyazlamak." Rose beams at him and then at me.

The boy turns around to look at me so fast that I am afraid he will get a whiplash.

His eyes widen too.

"My God! Really?" he blinks his large green spectacle-less eyes at me. Cheeks flushed and lips parted in… awe I guess.

Oh dear Merlin. Save me from young girls' and young gay boys' unwanted attention.

"Mr. Potter"… I offer him my hand. He grabs hold of it almost reverently.

"I am so... So grateful that you are here. I half believed that you weren't going to show up."

"I am here Mr. Potter and rest assured that I will be here for as long as it takes me to heal your sister. I am here for no other reason."

Tears fill in those green eyes so much like his father's.

"Thank you.. Thank you so much!"

"I will do my very best by your sister . Let us hope that I am allowed to do so."

His brow furrows a little.

"Of course you will be allowed Ustad. The hospital has no right to contest you if we have given you our consent. I have even arranged for Lily to be moved to our townhouse if you require so." The determined set to his chin is all his mother.

I need one ally on my side. I turn to look towards Mini Granger who matches her cousin in expression. Two is better than one. Let us just hope that the new generation does not hate death eater Slytherin scum like their parents did.

"It is not the hospital I am worried about not giving consent, I know the law very well myself. It is actually your parents."

"Our parents? I don't think so Ustad, if you are insecure about radical methods and what not, let me tell you that we are all desperate enough to try anything at this point and if anything does become a problem, I vow, me and Rose both vow that we will do our best to smooth the way for your convenience as much as possible." They are both nodding at me amiably, like such a vow will undo everything.

Well, I will just have to take a chance at convincing then. Say more than two words and no insulting any Weasleys no matter how rude they are. Do not tear Ginny Weasley's throat out.

"It is not a question of what and how but who and I think you should know…."

"Oh look there is Dad, I will get this cleared up right now Ustad!"

I don't need to look. I know he is just coming in. Every part of me and my being is acutely focused all of a sudden.

Control control control control control control….

"Dad! Over here!" Albus Potter is waving to someone behind me.

The scent of him. Oh dear god in heaven! So beautiful! So so so beautiful! If I could just… Just once…

I clench my fists as hard as I can, digging my nails in my palms grounding myself on the ground that is ready to be parted from my feet and fly.

Don't lose it! Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

Don't lose it!

"Dad! Ustad Beyazlamak is here. Ustad, this is my dad Harry Potter. The famous Savior of our wizarding world, bane of dark wizards, etcetera, etcetera…

"Hello.." the voice I hear.

Like a ringing bell in my body, soul, mind.

DON'T YOU DARE LOSE IT!

I turn around miraculously without stumbling.

Readying myself for everything and nothing.

From a box in the face to a swift Avada kedavra.

He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

So beautiful, perfect. Oh God! Oh dear God! Finish me now.

"Potter." The word leaves my mouth curtly.

The curios and polite smile that was playing on his lips vanishes as soon as recognition settles in his eyes.

There is a pause of a heartbeat where he blinks his green green green eyes as if not sure of what he is seeing.

Finally the jaw clenches. Dear Unmerciful God! Rotten Luck!

"Malfoy."

---

TBC

Chapter Text

 

 

---

Chapter 4 . Zero Angle, I dangle, by fingertips, from the Ferris wheel of Life.

(Dec, 22nd 2020)

It is freeze-raining again, in words of Lily.

How I hate this weather.

I glare at the auror that is loitering just beside the apparition point. And that is all he is doing. He does not notice me until I have reached close enough to give him a nice box on his handle like ears.

He is an easy target for my frustration. After the lunch break I have just had.

Ginny had been… Ginny.

Always nipping at me for being easy with Lily and Albus.

And now just Albus.

I do not understand how a mother could give up on her child like Ginny has on Lily. It doesn't make sense at all.

"Why won't you let her be in peace? What use is all of it? What could this new shaman maniac do that the Healers at Mungo's couldn't? Why are you such a push-over with Albus? Will you at least fucking react to me when I am throwing a tantrum you bastard!"

It ended how it always ends. With me walking out. That is the only way it could ever end, I should have known. Is it wrong that I feel that her shouting and anger is fair? Is it wrong that it never angers me? The only think I can get angry about with her is when she accuses me of having favorites among my children. It was always her way, never mine. Yet I stand accused for one thing I never do.

I purse my lips and say nothing to the lazy Auror. He is here to report to me before going back to his post in Soho.

I listen and send him back to his post with new instructions. The louts who are breaking in people's houses and destroying properties in broad daylight through a petrol bomb like potion will soon be foiled. That is if the Auror does his job. I am only involved on personal request from Percy, because one of the houses that were broken in, belonged to the muggle Italian Ambassador and the orders had come directly from the Muggle Prime Minister.

Tedious, tedious!

Victoria helps. Always helps. With the tea and the music and then leaving me alone to brood. It seems I have gotten to the point where hope frustrates me even more than helplessness. And for some reason, I find myself hoping.

The man might have seemed an imbecile at first. But when I later reviewed the conversation. In bed. I realized exactly what he had done.

He had set grounding. He had established himself in control. He had established the fact fully that he was only doing this because we requested it so and that he was the only one who would be calling the shots. He would do his work but won't stand interference from us. It was a very subtle psychological trick. And then he had refused my offer to provide him with means of transport, establishing his freedom of choice to come and go as he pleases and should we displease him or whatever is the deal-breaker for him, he would leave on his own terms.

It is a good sign. I like that in a person. If you are good at what you do and are confident about it, never cow in front of anyone. Do everything on your own terms.

I am restless. An uneasy tug inside me is the only thing I can think about. I am anxious and angry too, a little bit still.

There is nothing I can pin-point, or fix myself at, so, I start pacing.

Pacing helps, pacing makes me feel like I am moving, going somewhere. Pacing feels like it is bringing me closer. Closer to whatever it is that I supposed to be getting closer to.

"Dear Harry…" Oh dear it is never good when she addresses me that way. It means that she disapproves of something I have recently done or am currently doing.

I turn to look at her.

"It's almost Four, You have a private appointment at Five in 's. Do you remember?"

Ah! It is better than pacing the office. The idea alone calms me down. Moving in the right direction it is.

"Yes! I remember! In fact…" I summon my robe and cloak and notice Victoria's lip purse some more.

"…I am going to go right now as there is nothing to do here…"

"At least fix your hair dear…" she sighs resigning.

I grin at her sheepishly.

"Don't you know? Messy is the new sexy?"

"You are going to see your daughter's healer dear, not a suitor." A little smile plays on her lips as she makes her way to button up my vest, which I only wear for formal meetings, as I strap in my wand holster on my thigh. Just because it looks more dangerous and menacing. As I move to shrug into my robe she snatches it from my hand.

"No, not this one. It has got rain stains! Honestly Harry I don't know why you don't use an impervious charm when you are out in the rain."

If there is anything such as rain stains, I wouldn't know as they are apparently invisible to me and only visible to female –motherly eyes.

She moves to the Wizard space adjacent to my office and brings out another robe, I raise my eyes to see that it is the Midnight Blue Steep cut one with the tastefully dulled silver buttons. I feel even more sheepish, I know how she hates to summon clothes. "Ruins the ironing Harry!"

I only wear this robe when I am meeting foreign delegations, when I have to look the part and face of the new MLE, the fit auror and savior of the wizarding world. It is practically more fitted to my structure than my own skin and brings out the menace. Showing off the muscles I have acquired over the years. Ron had definitely gone for the portly, but as it is, it is impossible for me to get fat.. Or grow a white hair. Where poor eye-sight has always been the bane of Potters, the perfect metabolism and slow ageing is a wonderful compensation. Had my age not been such a huge news, always. I can easily pass as a thirty-year old.

I imagine that this robe costs a lot but I had never had to pay for robes like these, they came every season and plentiful from a French designer Wizard, who felt like he owed it to me for ridding him of his competitor who had kidnapped his three children demanding to sign over his business as ransom.

At least Victoria has not brought out the weird dark purple/?Maroon one. The one she keeps insisting is 'Plum'. That one is just obscene. Makes me look nothing like head-auror and father of three that I am and am supposed to look like. I know it irks Albus when we are shopping muggle and people mistake me to be his brother rather than his father.

"First impression is the last impression Harry. Albus told me that the healer worked you up last night, now it is time to show him that though you will let him work peacefully, he should not expect to just troll all over you. He is a monk, dressing is the only place you can have advantage over him. He would probably be in a frock."

"A frock?" I can't even imagine what that would look like.

"Not really… but you never know with these Monk, mystic types." She smiles in that weird wistful way once the buttons are done up.

"You do know that you are ruining my son with giving him a taste for gossiping though don't you?"

I slip into my cloak and feel the shiver of an impervious leaving her wand. If it was anyone else, they would have found themselves frozen on the ground by now even before the spell reached me.

" You are Harry Potter, you can hardly blame us when the rest of wizarding world is doing it without any shame…" she smiles at me coyly.

"I hope you have a better weekend." She says clasping a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. I hope so too. Oh how I would give anything for that hope.

In the elevator I bump into Percy.

"I was hoping to catch you. Wanted to send a memo but then I thought..." he pauses for a moment while I wait, hoping he is not going to delay me.

"Audrey and I wanted to come see Lily whenever it could be convenient. Arthur wanted to do a full Christmas at the hospital and he has been at Audrey about it, it is becoming a week long sulk, so if he asks you when he comes to visit, could you just…"

"I'll handle it Percy, don't worry about it. I try to keep his time at the hospital minimal as it is. I know how close he is Lily and Molly also told me about the sleep-crying. So don't worry about it.

"He will only take your word for it Harry, you know how he idolizes you." And I notice for the first time how upset even Percy is about this whole situation. How I had not noticed it until now just proves me of my self-indulgence. Lily is just as much Percy's niece as she is Charlie's (who has been coming down every month to see her) George's or Ron's (who never fails to visit every single day.) As it is Lily is closest with Arthur, it was bound to happen with only three days gap between their births, Percy's only child and Lily used to spend most weekends at their home. I still have the letters full of delight both had co-written when both of them had got in Gryffindor. Arthur was the first witness to Lily's illness and the one who is impacted the most too. Lily has a way of hijacking one's life and more often than not it was Arthur's.

Now Arthur looks just as stationary as Lily does. And comes almost daily to the hospital with Molly since he has been back from school for Christmas holidays.

My dear child. My baby. Come back to us. I swallow down the clenching again quickly.

"The new healer will be here today, so I'll definitely owl you about when you can come and we will schedule around it."

"Thanks Harry.. At times like these I hate my position."

Yes, I know he does. Minister of Magic as he is. Youngest Ever. It is the price.

---

It takes me less than four minutes to get to . It is hardly Five past four and I am craving a warm cup of tea. The damp weather is my least favorite. I am only hoping that Ginny would take heed of what I said…Only thing I said in answer of her rant, that she should avoid coming to the hospital again today. I need to see this through properly for Albus and Ginny would make it all impossible.

I spot Albus straight away as I walk through the sliding doors, he is standing just by the reception desk which is decked in gaudy Christmas décor with Rose and talking to someone with a glee that is rarely seen on his face these days. I straight away take in the person who Albus is talking to…

First thing I notice is Silver white dazzling Hair. Tied in a neat tight braid that only reaches just under the nape of a slender yet strong neck. Broad but lean and sharp shoulders Snow white silk shirt and A snow grey cardigan and slightly darker neatly tailored trousers that are draped around legs that go on and on and on. A Dark grey-green Dragon-skin bag is slung across one shoulder and before I know I am close enough to actually see the mole on the side of this person's neck just under the hair line. He is tall, taller than me and Albus. And magical. Extremely Magical, though its benign extremely soft textured and nervous for some reason. It feels like a heady pleasant buzz you get after your first taste of butterbeer.

An impulsive flash in my mind goes off, a vision of me closing the distance of the few feet between us and draping myself around him like a second skin.

"Dad! Ustad Beyazlamak is here. Ustad, this is my dad Harry Potter. The famous Savior of our wizarding world, bane of dark wizards, etcetera, etcetera…"

This is Beyazlamak? The monk? He doesn't dress like a monk.

"Hello.." I say just as the man turns around

And Oh my dear God, the eyes.

So light a grey, almost Silver. Almond shaped and fair lashed, straight and delicate nose and high cheekbones. So patrician. Aristocratic and angelic and so so familiar. A firm mouth and a strong pointed chin. So familiar. My mind is gasping to make a connection. It is as if I know this face, as if I have always known it, seen it again and again time after time like in a dream which is so vivid but fades away as soon as you are awake. I know I am staring like an idiot but it is a mystery like none other. This face. I would surely remember if I had seen such a beautiful face so frequently. It is unforgettable. I am sure I haven't forgotten it yet but…

And then those lips open and a single word comes out of it.

"Potter…"

And it is the voice. The voice. The voice that makes the connection, more than the voice the style, the manner, the curtness.

What in the name of heaven and hell is he doing here?

Malfoy! Fucking Malfoy!

He can't be Beyazlamak. Must be fooling, faking, lying…

But why?

Why now?

After all those inquiries to discover his whereabouts after he had vanished off the fucking face of the world.

I had looked for how long?

Yes five years. Five fucking years.

And not a trace of him.

And here he now stands.

Posing as a Monk Healer. FROM FUCKING TURKEY.

No I had not asked anyone in Turkey.

Don't hex him! Don't hex him! Don't hex him. Some part of me repeats.

"Malfoy" I say flatly. It comes out sterner than I expected and for a split second the expression on his face is as if I have just stabbed him before it's clear and blank again.

"Malfoy?" I hear Albus say.

"Yes, that is what I was about to tell you and Miss Weasley…" He finally breaks eye contact with me, his silvery strange eyes switching to my son. I feel bereft for some odd reason. He is… so beautiful. Fuck sensibility, Malfoy looks beautiful. Awe-inspiring, magnetizing, stone-hard and cold, beautiful. I feel as if my breath has been knocked out of me. He has not aged, but grown. He does not look the age he actually is. He has that vulnerability to him, that aloofness. Though there is also a faded weathered feel to him, as if despite his pristine look he has seen a lot. Suffered a lot. My break of thought is broken with Albus' increased in incredulity and volume voice.

"…That you are Malfoy? The Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy?" it is Rose this time. I look at both the children. Who both wear a strange mix of expression on their faces. Almost identical in their confusions.

This won't do. This won't do at all.

A million things are running through my head. I take a deep breath, a method I had taught myself in my beginning days of Auror practice. When I was just so angry all the time just beneath the surface and I had to keep it under wraps, always, lest I spilled it out in front of my wife. I used to be so buzzed and distraught all the time as if I had lost the meaning of life even when I was living a dream finally. Married to the girl of my dreams. Officially part of the Weasley clan, a child on the way and chasing the last remnants of death-eaters. Hunting them down and bringing them to justice. Erasing the last traces of Voldemort. But it was never enough. And my mask and control took a long time to make, but was flawless enough to hide my cracking psyche at most times.

"Would you both excuse us for a moment? I think Malfoy and I need to have a word… In private."

"But….Dad…" Albus starts to protest but quiets down when I shoot him a look everyone notices. He pales a little and shoots an apprehensive look at Malfoy. Who carries such a passive look that on that face that it is almost alarming.

"Come with me…" I say simply. I feel him look up and once I have started walking I can feel him behind me, matching step for step. If he has something nefarious on his mind he sure is not showing it in his body language.

Before I realize, I am stepping out of 's. Where do I take him?

Merlin's bollocks! It is cold!

I turn to look at him and can see him shivering with it as well.

It is almost instinctual how my hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist.

He shudders. Honest to God shudders. And for once I am thankful for my woolen gloves.

When I pull, he comes easily, fluidly. It is eerie.

"You were travelling to England in December and that is what you decided to wear?" I say looking pointedly at the flimsy looking cloak still hanging draped across his satchel, as we reach across the road and next to the apparition booth.

He looks at me for a long moment and I realize that the expressions on that face are no longer giving me any idea of what he is feeling. It has been too long. I don't know his expressions any longer. Not when they are not disgust, hate, mockery, poison.

"It is adequate, were I given a chance to actually put it on before…" He trails off looks away shakes his head a bit and then looks back at me. And his expression is…

I don't know what to call it but it is unsettling.

The best I can do is ignore it as I move aside from one of the doors of the apparition booth and signal him to get in.

He does without question and I follow without an answer and then disapparate to the only place I can think of where the pending conversation or interrogation can take place.

We apparate in a back alley of the building where one of my generic apartment/safe house is situated. It can also easily and most comfortably turn into an interrogation/captivity cell, off the records of course.

He follows me this time without prompting. As we enter the building the security guard sends a salute my way I nod in his direction which is a signal that all is well. If I wave my hand at him, it means that it is trouble. And he would immediately inform the MLE SWAT.

As the escalator door closes I press the button to the seventh floor.

"You are being incredibly cooperative." I say when I notice the tension in him. He is standing rigid and straight a hand clasping and unclasping around the strap of his dragon hide satchel.

Just as we pass the second floor I remember. Stupid stupid stupid. I have to cover my error.

"Oh… and while you are being cooperative, why don't you hand me over your wand?"

His head shoots up to look at me, eyes widened. He has gone paler if it was possible.

"Just so you don't get any ideas…" I add. Why I am try to reassure my ex-arch-nemesis I have no idea. I actually have no idea what I am going to do right now. Interrogate him, yes. But did I have to bring him here, to one of my most secret safe house?

A dangerous thought passes my mind for a split second.

'Has he already cursed me?'

No, that is not possible. But what do I know, what he is capable of and what is possible with him. He did manage to hide from me for twenty years. As arrogant and showy Malfoys were, Draco had slipped off the grid with horrifying ease. Leaving no traces behind to his whereabouts. Manor on a lockdown through blood wards, only selective house-elves allowed in and out of the household.

Thank fully at that very moment the escalator opens.

This time he steps out first without my prompting. Almost as if sprinting out.

And I am hardly out of the lift when he turns around faster than I have ever seen anyone move before and his wand is pressing against my neck. Before mine has even reached my hand.

"Is this the kind of idea you were thinking about Potter?"

His voice is calm, very calm.

I can't help but feel how funny the situation is.

"Why are you smiling?" he asks, eyes narrowed.

I flick my wrist silently summoning his wand.

The one in his hand doesn't budge. But a wand does fly into my hand.

And it is familiar. The surge of magic. The feel of it. The surrender of it.

"Hello again old friend…" I can't help but greet the wand. We have known each other very intimately for several years. Malfoy looks like he is about to be sick staring at the wand in my hand. His wand. The one I had…

"If I had some nefarious designs on your family Potter, this would not be the way I would go about it." His voice is gravelly and he is suddenly all out of breath. The wand withdraws and he takes a step back, then two, until his back is against the wall. He ducks is head down leaning against the wall knuckles white around his clasped greyish wand. I have never seen a wand of that colour.

"Then what is the meaning of this? What is meaning of your being here? Showing up after twenty years?"

"Just what I said. Your son wrote me a letter. Your daughter's life is in peril and I owe you a life debt and its time I paid my dues before closing this chapter forever. It would be easier if you just believed me now, because interrogating me would not do you a whole lot of good." He gives the stretch of the corridor a disdainful look. So he knew my intentions all along.

"It is hardly a surprise Potter, you are as predictable as always, acting before you think, leaping before you look, so arrogant with power you hold over…people."

He looks vulnerable and strangely exhausted all of a sudden his silver eyes are staring at me. it is a blink and miss movement when his free hand twitched and the wand that I had just confiscated from him flies back to him. And just like that we are back to square one. Though he tucks the wand back inside his side pocket and his fingers ease slightly on the other one as well. So now that it is obvious that there is no getting out of this situation and it is I actually who is at disadvantage, I decide to abandon the Gryffindor way and take another approach to unravel the mystery that is this man before me.

"A life-debt? I considered it settled when your mother helped me in the dark forest Malfoy…" he interrupts me immediately.

"Not for saving me from fiendFyre Potter! I owe you my life for testifying in my favor in front of the Wizengamot. They would have given me the kiss if it wasn't for you. So I owe you for that. I know you won't believe me but I would have come to cure your daughter even if I did not have a life-debt hanging on my head. It is what I do. I have taken an oath. But because you are too frigid to believing in my goodwill, I give you a proper, logical reason for me being here, apart from the goodness of my heart."

In my heart of heart, I know he is telling the truth. But what do I really know about him? And to think that this is the truth is almost as astonishing as it is real.

"So you are saying that you really are Beyazlamak? And are here to try and cure Lily?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying. Beyazlamak is not a name, it is a title. But it is more my name than Draco Malfoy ever was so I would appreciate it if you would call me Beyazlamak."

In the end, the shrewd Auror mind wins over the desperate father which is a surprise even to me. It could be that this all is a deception. It could be that he has some larger scheme. Some terrible plan. I am not only a father am I? I also have a civil and professional responsibility and for all I know he might be an imposter. A double bluff. An imposter pretending to be Malfoy pretending to be the monk healer.

Merlin, and he has involved my son.

"Tell me something only Draco Malfoy would know."

A pale perfect naturally arched eyebrow goes up and a smirk starts appearing on that mouth for the first time, and that alone is an answer enough that this is the real Draco Malfoy. Right now I must be looking like the most incompetent Auror in the history of Aurors.

Forgetting to confiscate his wand. Bringing him to a top-secret safe house, and only now asking him to prove his identity. What is wrong with me? It is as if my mind has gone to sleep and I am working on auto-pilot. Must be the shock.

"Though, due to my father I always had to support Tutshell Tornadoes, I was genuinely always a fan of Falmouth Falcons, but couldn't express it because they happened to be a favorite of yours as well."

I wonder for a second why of all the things he could have chosen to prove his identity, it was this. More stupidity! What is wrong with me? Has his beauty rendered me am idiot? I have seen much more and have been effected so much less.

I realize that there are not many things that only Draco Malfoy would know and I would know too.

Except perhaps things that I came to know about him when I was following him in the sixth year, suspecting him to be a death-eater, which turned out to be the truth.

Or about that night on top of the astrology tower when Dumbledore died.

A flash of memory lights up my mind and I can almost see Hermione stalking up to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, wand drawn, fury radiating from her. Malfoy whimpering in desperation and fear and then moments later after Ron and I had stopped her from doing something she would regret later, the satisfying crunch of a punch straight in the pointy face. Malfoy doubling over face and hands covered in gushing blood and scrambling for the end of his white uniform shirt under which he was wearing..

A silver blue shirt…

"Ah! I knew it! I knew that was a Falcon shirt that I saw when you tried to stop your nose bleeding when…."

"Granger punched me in the face… yes… Because of that horrible beast. I mean did I not get hurt enough because of that animal already? It was after me from the beginning."

Yes. This is Draco Malfoy alright if he thinks he was the victim in the whole Buckbeak debacle.

But still, a question is forming in my mind.

"What was the curse you used on me on the Hogwarts express after you petrified me in the beginning of the sixth year?"

Yes, only Draco would know the answer to that. I had not even told Hermione and Ron about that.

This time it is not a smirk, in fact his face is carefully expressionless.

Though his hand twitches slightly.

My grip on my wand grows tighter.

"I did not curse you Potter, I stomped on your face and smashed your nose." He says plainly. Eyes wary.

That he did, and it bloody hurt.

So it is Draco.

I close my eyes. Confusion, desperation, melancholy, nostalgia and just sheer terror fill me up and for a moment I am internally grasping at my floating mind.

How can I trust him? Why do I want to trust him?

I can't. I can't take the risk. I can't put my whole family at risk just because my instinct is telling me I can trust Draco Malfoy, who I could trust when he was seventeen and a weakling, a scared squirell, but this Draco Malfoy is not that Draco Malfoy at all. He is more composed, very strong, and fearless apparently, also with better skills in magic than myself. Benign the magic may seem that oozes from him, but it is no guarantee that it is not a camouflage. The man has stayed out of sight for twenty years and has appeared out of thin air with a flimsy excuse just when I am at my most vulnerable. As a wizard as a man.

"I know what you are thinking… and I knew before coming here that this precisely would be your reaction. Which is why I came up with a solution to our little trust issue before I even came here."

It is infuriating beyond expression how he is reading my mind, how he is using my desperation against me, how he is gloating. How he knows that even after all possible risks I want to give him a chance for some reason. I hate it that he has reduced me back into a petty teenager who would never back down from an insult and throw back ever worse.

"I don't think anything you can say or do will make me trust you Malfoy. Your father never cared for another's life, and you were always petty enough to hit when one is helpless, petrified. I have never known you to play fair, so nothing you can offer me, can make me trust you…"

It is as if he is changing sizes and colours in front of my very eyes without it being visible and somehow it seems that my words have affected him. Drastically.

The conversation is over. The interrogation is not happening. And though something in me wants to stay and speak to him some more, I know it is better that we part ways now. I have a son to explain things to and to bear angry lashes from and I have a daughter to look down at in a hospital bed and know that when it came to risk and eventuality, I chose safe.

I press the button for the lift and it opens immediately. The doors have hardly slid open fully when I hear him say from behind.

"What if I say that there is something that I can offer you in order to make you trust me?"

He can't. The faded mark on his arm will never let me trust him. Even if I had once allowed his life to be spared despite the mark. If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that everyone with that mark is fully capable of carrying the biggest grudge against me for all eternity.

"What can it possibly be?" I find myself asking without intending to. The door pings and waits opened for me to step inside and walk away from this worse kind of temptation against desperation of keeping my family and home and life together. There is a pause. A pause long enough for the door to ping again and slide to close again. When his voice come again it is a little warped in the sound of sliding steel doors of the lift, but the words are unmistakable.

"What if I offer you an unbreakable vow?"

The words have an echo to them that I can feel down in my soul. My intuition lightens up.

An unbreakable vow.

It is not an offer any wizard makes easily. It is the last resort. It is a dangerous and risky undertaking. One mis-step and the penalty is death. It is dark and forbidden. Not to mention illegal.

But there is nothing less than this that I could settle for.

I turn around to look at him. To see any trace of falsehood on that face.

The paleness and graveness of his face tells me the whole truth. In the end, I am a father and fathers will do anything for their children.

---

 

Chapter Text

 

---

 

 

Chapter 5. We have lost even this twilight...

...No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

(Pablo Neruda)

In retrospect.

Ah what a luxury it would be if after this very encounter I will be able to do any retrospection at all.

No, like everything else with Harry Potter, the jumper, the leaper, the pusher, the seeker…

There is no time for retrospection. He is a flood, a tsunami that will rush you away from any sane thinking before you jump in and make the stupidest decision of your life.

Or the most brilliant one. It remains to be seen.

It is no wonder why my Veela chose Harry Potter as my mate.

There is seriously nothing that can match this wild, broken creature that takes command like he was born to do the very thing.

The hero-worship is only fair. Now, I think.

Because a lesser man could not do things that Harry Potter did.

From sacrifice to sacrilege.

He owns it all.

And it is never more apparent to me than at this very moment. Why he owns me, without even having a clue about it.

I never stood a chance.

Even after everything, and especially the fate he unknowingly bind me to, I have still strived to be a creature worthy of him. In courage and in deeds. Even when there was no chance that he will even know or see what I have accomplished for him and only him. The relentless work. The washing out of all old and dangerous beliefs. The purity and celibacy. Tolerance, benevolence, devotion and modesty. All of it for him.

At this moment he stands looking at me like I am a most fascinating and strange creature that has just crawled out of a book he read long time ago, my wrist is wrapped in his grip.

Strong, scorching and maddening.

I never even imagined that this moment would come. This is the answer to all my unuttered prayers.

I can only thank Merlin for the woolen gloves his hand is swaddled in, or heaven knows what would be the scenario right now.

And it is not just the primal veela that is in danger of slipping out of control.

It is also me.

It was not just the veela that suffered all this time.

I did too.

Longing for touch, love, friendship, familiarity.

Counting down days.

In this moment, this very moment, it all becomes the clearest. Why I have chosen this path, because when you are faced with as big a situation? Task? Tragedy? as mine, you lose sight of it because of its size, there is only so much a small human mind can perceive at a time. So it is good to have it all simplified in front of you, for you to see the whole picture.

Due to the rejection, I am bound to waste away and die.

I have only survived this long because of the magic I have used and mastered all these years.

But like a deadly virus, my veela magic and instinct forms immunity to all the repression.

If I do not choose this path, this particular path, things would still deteriorate slowly but surely.

The poison of rejection and longing has been eating away at my soul for twenty years.

But that is not all it eats away at.

A couple of heats more and I will start losing my coherency, my sanity. Until I am nothing but a writhing mess of pain and waste. No longer able to keep care of myself. Nothing but a source of continuous torture to those who care for me.

Before I eventually waste away due to destabilized and desolate magical core and starvation.

It is a horrible prospect and a painful death. One you would not even wish on your worst enemies.

My coming to London will change things.

This path that I have chosen will speed up the process.

Had I not come here and continued the way I was going, I would have still died over a period of 5-7 years. This way, I can cut short the agony and go quicker even if not necessarily cleaner.

I am sure no one would begrudge me.

I could not choose my life, but they cannot begrudge me the choice of my death.

And why would I die? Why would the process be sped up?

Withdrawal. After close proximity of my one true mate for so many days so close to the heat, and then returning home the heat will be more severe. The withdrawal will be more caustic; it will be much faster and do more damage.

I might still be looking at a few months.

But that is better than a few years.

How I will rip myself away and into withdrawal when even with all suppression I can barely breathe in his proximity?

That is a question for another time and retrospection.

A part of me is scolding myself that I should not have just followed him out like this, what is he about to do to me? Torture? Take me to the authorities?

The other part of me wishes he would. Wishes he would torture me.. at least he would be touching me. Paying attention to me, concentrated on me, only me. Marking this flesh that has gone unclaimed for so so long.

I hate this part of me with a vengeance.

There is a third part of me that is still wallowing in self-pity and it is a shame that that is the part that is also paying attention at the time.

"You were travelling to England in December and that is what you decided to wear?"

The question registers a few moments later, and I realize that it is extremely cold.

'So now you care about me being cold? When you did not even wait for me to put my cloak on? So scared you were that I would touch your children somehow and contaminate them with my death-eater filth? Because that is what I am, am I not? Death-eater scum? No matter what I do and how much I have changed that is what I will remain. And you and your people accused my kin of bigotry? '

Then there is the fourth part the one that resents this man in front of me with a passion. The one that never listens to any kind of explanation or justification or even facts, the one that feels the abandonment most acutely and thrives on it and the one that will not know what to do if ever all my wishes came to fruition... Not that they ever will.

I realize that my head is filling up with too many voices.

His eyes, green green eyes are trained on my… cloak. A little… worried? How do I keep myself safe from these laser beam eyes. Why does he not wear those miserable glasses anymore?

No, don't fall into that trap.

Indifference is the best policy…

"It is adequate, were I given a chance to actually put it on before…"

There is an old flash in his eyes. Is it hatred? It is very muted to be hatred, but then again, everything about him is muted, weak… a little worn out.

He guides me into an apparition booth and then steps inside it. Thankfully the space is not too narrow, I am already on edge enough as it is.

I am glad he doesn't linger, clearly his decision is made. Whatever is about to happen to me at his hands is a risk I took in coming here, though that is not what I am really worried about, pain is one thing I am sure I can endure. No, at this point, I think it would be the opposite that will do me most harm.

I hardly keep track of where he has taken me. It is true, that London is not at all what it used to be when I was young. Especially with all of it on an apparition and disapparition lock down. An impossible feat and accomplished by a young muggle-born graduate straight out of Hogwarts almost a decade ago. The rumor was that it was somehow done via the microwaves that muggle mobile phones use to communicate. Though it was dismissed quickly. The wizarding world had been in an uproar in the beginning. But eventually the fall in crime-rate was impressive enough to make people stop mumbling about the inconvenience. The method had trickled down to the rest of Europe and eventually to America as well with its burgeoning wizarding colonies.

He apparates us to a back alley and I expect some violence, but it does not come. He simply guides me out of it and leads me to the main entrance of what looks like a very generic though tolerable apartment complex.

The man on the reception sends a playful yet cautious salute towards my companion who returns it nonchalantly with a nod. The man is not a wizard, but neither a muggle, a squib then, and in awe of Boy-wonder. It is clear enough in the way his eyes follow his hero, and fodder for his late night fantasies.

And he has all the reasons to. This man that I am following to god knows where might be the most popular wizard to ever grace Britain after perhaps Merlin himself. A hero to the last drop of his blood and a formidable wizard, which I can easily tell by the sheer power he exudes unaware of it with every breath he takes. He is perhaps the most powerful wizard in Britain and as many people believe in the world.

Or he was, until today.

Because just like he does not know how powerful he himself is.

He does not have the slightest idea that I just might be even more powerful than him.

In fact I am this powerful because of him alone. I am so powerful that it is killing me slowly. There is only so much magic one's body can control, without getting its own sustenance.

So if he has brought me here to incarcerate me, interrogate me, torture me.

He has another thing coming.

I will not be side-tracked from my mission.

I will not let him hijack my life and my death any more than he has already done. Intentionally or unintentionally.

There is a child's life at stake, his child's. And I will not let petty grudges hold me back. Not mine, not his, not anyone else's

"You are being incredibly cooperative."

His tone is wry, but I am all ready and coiled like a snake, ready for the strike if it comes to that. I know full well that I can never harm him physically, but I can surely hold him down. It takes some effort, but I do not rise to the bait.

"Oh… and while you are being cooperative, why don't you hand me over your wand?"

No.

Just no.

It is not possible.

I look up at him, hoping, praying…

Praying that he does not know.

Hoping and praying that he did not know the implication of taking my wand all those years ago.

Not then, and not now. Because, I would never be able to reconcile myself with the fact that the rejection was inflicted upon me intentionally. That I was rejected intentionally and knowingly twenty years ago.

A flash of a second and I do not know what he sees in my face but a flash of worry passes on his.

"Just so you don't get any ideas…" he says, brows furrowed in controlled concern.

It grounds me.

I root deep down inside myself in that second and find that I do not feel compelled to give him my wand. No, it was just a suggestion. Not an order.

I can almost faint with relief. He does not know the power he yields on me. He is still innocent in this whole mess.

The lift decides to open at that moment and I am only too happy to step out swiftly, keeping in mind the decision I had come to earlier. I did not come this far to get side-tracked.

Reassuring myself and the Veela inside me that I am doing this only for demonstration purposes and in no way to harm him, I turn around as fast as I can as my wand flies to my hand and in a blink of an eye it is pressed against his neck.

"Is this the kind of idea you were thinking about Potter?"

He looks startled for a moment, genuinely startled, which then turns into mirth. He is smiling now and I for the life of me cannot figure out why. Does he know of my impotence when it comes to harming him? Does he know of my weakness? Is he a thrill junkie? Does he like being in danger? Pain?

"Why are you smiling?" I can't help but ask, and that is all it takes. My distraction.

He flicks his wrist and I feel my faithful olive wand hum in response, but it doesn't budge, thank goodness that I am in control enough. The other wand on my person though is another story all together.

It flies into his hand like that is the most familiar thing for it to do.

I now remember once again with full clarity why I had to get a new one made.

I am seeing it happening. Why that wand was never mine again. Like its previous owner, it had surrendered to its abductor. Traitor.

What is peculiar is the expression on Potter's face the moment the wand is in his hands again.

Tenderness.

"Hello again old friend…" he whispers to it like you would an old friend that was always a little more than a friend.

It is obscene, and cruel and possibly the most beautiful thing I have seen. The way his fingers are touching its groves and stains. The way the wand is humming in his fingers.

I can't deal with it. The idea that he can bestow such tenderness on something that became the reason for my doom and at the same time my eternal connection to him. I don't know if I should hate it or adore it.

All I know is I can't deal with it at this very moment.

And while he is standing there and not attacking me and might listen to reason, I take my chance.

"If I had some nefarious designs on your family Potter, this would not be the way I would go about it." I start, but my voice is not with me as much as I would like it to be.

Seeing that there is no way else to do it, I lower my wand turn a little and lean against the wall. Feeling more tired than I could ever imagine being, though I am not actually. It is almost not worth the trouble.

""Then what is the meaning of this? What is meaning of your being here? Showing up after twenty years?"

The mistrust shows on his face.

Time to start spinning.

In the end, the unbreakable vow is the only thing that holds any weight with him.

"You know, I can arrest you right now, for even speaking of doing it…" his eyes are shining though. He will agree and fall just right with my plans with just a little more persuasion.

"I know that you can, but I also know that you won't Potter. I have no fear in making it, because I truly intend to treat your daughter to the best of my abilities, which are considerable, as your son will assure you. And though in general I would take it as an insult to my abilities and character, I will spare you just this once due to our…history."

He snorts sarcasm. As the lift door closes

"Oh yes, the history where you were a baby death eater and son and grandson of a death eater with a grudge against me the size of the Great Wall of China from the moment we first met. Forgive me if I don't just hand over the safety of my child, or any child into your hands, on a platter."

The words are cruel. But we have said much worse to each other. Were it not for my peculiar disposition, I would not feel them cut me to the quick the way they do. But being passive will not help in this situation. I need my full concentration to accomplish my task and I need to address this issue before it compromises my ability.

"Do you know, calling me a death-eater is not much different than when I called you a filthy half-blood, and Hermione Granger a Mudblood? It is just as wrong because just like you were born into your legacy, I was born into mine, but I worked years in penance of something I was born into and forced into. I turned my head around. I have cured as many muggles as I have magical folks. From Leukemia to Asthma, from Dragon pox to Daenaryen syndrome, so think really hard about that and what you will be teaching your children before you call me a death-eater in front of them. Think how it does not make you a hair's breadth better now than I was at my worse."

He is staring at me. I can see it reflected on the inside of the lift door. Before the air shifts and he is able to counter that with a reply, the lift slides open.

This time I stop him pointedly just before stepping out of the entrance of the building and shrug myself into my cloak.

"What is that thing even made of?" he asks as he steps out behind me.

I smirk at his tone. He sounds testy, a little whiny. Did I hit the spot with my anti-bigotry speech? A look at his petulant frown tells me that I have.

I want to kiss it all away.

I better not.

"It's a gift actually. A magical travelling cloak, woven by the Mountain elves out of Fawnish sheep's fur."

"Really? I thought fawnish sheep were extinct." In a most inappropriate gesture he is rubbing the material on my sleeve between his fingers, so very close to my pulse and looking really closely at it, bringing him inappropriately closer to me in proximity.

His hair smells of citrus and sandalwood.

It is the most captivating smell that I have ever inhaled in my life.

It is the smell of paradise and belonging.

Of home.

Of…

Tenderness washes over me. He is in such despair. It is in his scent. He is so tired, exhausted, so worried. He is hiding it all. The pain of seeing his most beloved child in such a state. I smell tears, all of them, for they all leave a trace behind.

If only I could take it all away. If only I could offer him comfort the way only I can. If only I could spread my wings and enfold him in them and sing away all this melancholy. A song only for him.

If only.

"It is extraordinary…" he says stepping back from me bringing me out of my reverie.

I swallow down the strained muscles of my throat that I am sure will not be able to utter a word but coo and give away everything. Where would I be then?

"A gift from mountain elves though?"

"Yes, I cured their head of tribe from magic mushroom poisoning when their own healers failed."

"hmmm… that is something I guess." He says as he turns and makes his way to the back alley again and castes a hasty tempus.

It is hard to believe that we have been able to come to an agreement in less than half of an hour.

Taking my wrist again, which is unnecessary at this point, but I don't object, we disapparate back to the hospital.

Just as we both step out of the apparition booth, he stops me with a hand on my arm.

"You will not tell anyone, especially Albus, about the thing we just agreed upon."

I want to ask why, but I don't and simply nod in agreement.

"It is because he has full faith in you for some reason, and I don't want him to think that I do not trust his judgment, but I still need this reassurance from you and so it shall remain between you, me and Hermione."

"Hermione?" No, this was the one thing I would only share with him by my own will. Am I to make the vow with Granger? Because Harry Potter can't….

"Yes, Hermione, I want her to be a witness and bonder of the vow between us."

So it is going to be between us.

Finally, something between us witnessed, held important, willingly by both parties, even if it has consequence of death attached to it. It is a beautiful thing.

---

"I know this might not be appropriate at the moment, but I must tell you, that I am secretly one of your biggest fans."

I look up at the boy, standing with a demure stance but somewhat excited and anxious at the same time.

Not totally gay, bisexual. I just use the eye brow arch that flusters all Potters for some reason into answering and explaining without delay. It is proving to be more useful than words ever were. As I expected he scrambles into answering, while I look down to the more detailed charts of my patient. Making mental notes. This is the very kind of multi-tasking I am used to because of Aali, who thinks me looking through records is a free pass for him to babble on and on and on non-stop and later be cross with me if I missed something. Usually plebian things, but often important intellectual ideas and aspirations.

"Uh… I stumbled upon your 7th year potions notebook in the common room, the annotations alone got me an O in my final coursework potions project. I worked on the extraction methods of the cultivated Romona-bloodpods and their uses out of the general blood cleansing arena. Your notes were… inspiring."

Romona-bloodpods, I remember my fascination with the nasty buggers clearly. I usually kept them in my trunk to keep Crabbe and Goyle out of it.

Wait a minute.

Common room? What were my books and notebooks doing in the Gryffindor common room?

He did say common room.

"You found them in the common room?" I ask still looking at the chart.

"Yes, in the… secret compartment behind the cobra head…"

Now I do look up at him. To see him smiling.

"Yes, I am a Slytherin too."

And out of the many bizarre things in life that I have heard.

That has to be the most bizarre! Harry Potter's son in Slytherin?

" And how did that work out for you?" I ask him without meaning to.

"Pretty good actually. I graduated head boy. Quidditch Captain and cup winner, And with the House-cup to Slytherin too. Three consecutive years."

"Good, that is impressive… A seeker then? Like your father I suppose…?"

"Oh no! Keeper… That one is the seeker. Was going to really follow in Dad's footsteps and be one of the youngest seekers , but she…" He bites his cheek and looks away from his sister. I look down at the girl. Long dark red curls that must have shined like embers when she was healthy and vital. Skin is fair and slightly freckled though it is more pallid and brittle now. Though her structure right now is gaunt I can tell that she has the perfect seeker physique, slender but swift and strong. She is a pretty girl. A pretty girl who would one day turn the heads of boy wizards everywhere.

I just have to make sure that her life does get to that stage.

I take a deep breath, put the clip board just by her feet covered in that awful light green sheet, hospital issue. The atmosphere itself is too brooding, too melancholy and Lily Potter needs positive energy around her, not residual energy of deaths and decays and pain and sadness surrounding her. A remain of those who stayed in this very room before her.

" …" I quickly glance at the glass door, out of which I can see Granger and Potter standing close and in deep conversation. By the looks of it, Granger is disapproving. Of course she is. I was the cruelest to her.

"… I think you had the right idea. This environment is not doing any good to her, and I do work with energies, if I were to take over her treatment, the first step that I would take without delay would be to move her out of here, to some place where she has always been most content and at ease."

"I had a feeling about that Ustad. I have studied a few of your cases and I know a little about energies, I already have had arrangements made in the town house, here in London. There is a Huge ladies saloon on the third floor, which was her favorite room in the house, she never really liked it all that much at Godric's Hollow…"

He pauses for a few seconds and I know there is something else he wants to say. I encourage it. If I can form a good relationship with this one, it will give me a better chance at working.

"…Ustad Beyazlamak, I wanted to apologize for this…." here he shoots a glance at the glass door too where now Potter is looking away while Granger rubs his arm in a comforting way. Yielding.

"Whatever it is, I am sorry that…some people are unable to look past old prejudices and realize what a truly great healer you are, whatever may your past be… all that should matter is what and who you are now…"

"That is easier said than done Mr. Potter. It may be easy for you to look past the prejudices because you have not witnessed the true darkness of discrimination and war that prejudice brings. Don't be too quick to judge people who have suffered it."

"That statement only increases my respect for your … That you would defend…"

At that moment the door slides open and two parts of the Golden trio step inside.

Potter looks weary and Granger wary.

Correction : She is Weasley now. Mrs. Weasley.

"How are you Draco? It has been a long time." She says after a few moments of tense silence.

Draco.

It seems such an alien word now.

Correction : I will call her Granger.

"Let us not waste time in pleasantries Granger, I need to know if you have reached a decision."

Her eyes widen for a moment and then finally after a few blinks her expression eases. She looks at Potter furtively.

"You do know that it is Weasley now don't you?" she says.

"Do I look like I care?" I say with all the Malfoy arrogance I can conjure.

An honest to god smile splashes on her face.

"No, you don't… and that is good… We have come to decision and we have agreed that you should be given a chance." I can tell that he is signaling to me that we are doing the unbreakable vow. I nod at him and turn to Potter junior.

"Please make arrangements for her to be transported to the place you were just now talking about. Make sure that she gets the largest space which gets a lot of natural light, solarium perhaps?"

The young Potter does not even look at his father for any confirmation and swiftly steps out.

"Why? Why are you moving her?" Granger asks.

I heave a sigh. Feeling the slight weariness of nerves. The Potion is still working but it is now on decline.

"I am an …alternate magical methods healer Granger. I work most with magical and spiritual energies. And for that I need space, not to forget that this place already has a boat load of negative residual energies. They are too stifling and will interfere with my work. I need room for security, runes work and precautions and I will also need easy access to a Potions brewing lab."

"Albus has one at the town house. I don't think he would mind sharing it seeing that you have already hired him as your minion."

"I don't think it is wise to antagonize Draco, Harry." Says little Granger, always the sound of reason and too much sound in general.

"I am not antagonizing Hermione…I'm just..."

"Patronizing?" I cut in. "I couldn't care less Granger, it does not matter to me what Potter thinks. What matters to me is that I get what I want so that I can do my optimum best with the task at hand."

"Task at hand? Is that all, my daughter and her life is to you? A task? Is that how your treatment works? Objectifying your patients? You unfeeling Bastard!"

"That is hardly fair Harry!" Granger tries to come to my defense again.

"Yes, that is exactly what this is to me, a task, a mission, for accomplishment of which - if you have not forgotten - I have forfeited my life. Forgive me if I do not humanize her too much like you have done and compromise my abilities as a healer like you have done with your Auror skills."

There is pin-drop silence in the room for a few seconds. While his widened eyes are fixed on me and Granger is shaking her head slightly as if involuntarily and I am slowly coming to the horrible realization that I may have just pushed him over the edge and that he might ask me to leave with the very next words that come out of his mouth.

But what actually comes out is..

"Alright…" He turns away and sits on one of the three chairs situated just near the door, hunched and curled in. Tiredness oozes out of him in waves. For a moment I can imagine holding him in comfort, curled around him, soothing him. I rip my mind off of that tragic yet glorious image.

"That is just right… I have… Now I know that this might just work… I realize… that you are not here to be nice and for my comfort… I get that… I envy you your detachment, just…"

"Granger… I think we should do the Vow, right now, If only because it will reassure Potter and avoid any kind of second guessing of my methods or motives once my work is in progress."

Granger looks down at Potter who does not look anywhere but at the floor in defeat. His profile a little more grey.

"Harry?" she reaches for him with her hand, how easy it looks. How comfortable and familiar as her hand touches his dense black incorrigible hair. Out of all the things that were denied me, this one cuts the deepest. There was never a chance that I could have had this. Not for a moment, not for a second. I turn away from it all, feeling a pain in my chest, it grounds me, this pain, this one familiar thing that has always been my companion over the decades. This pain is my reality, not my surroundings, not the nearness of him, this pain is what I have, and this is why I am here. To be at one with this pain and to be free of it forever. I have had years of self-pitying, now is not that time for it.

I am silently thankful for the Potion. It effects may be waning, but it is still helping me hold my own in his presence and think logically.

I look down at the girl again and imagine what colour her eyes must be? I will get to see soon I know. A most extraordinary green like her father? A striking but common blue of her mother? Perhaps both, a blue green similar to the Lake at Hogwarts? This little girl, a product of love between her parents. I know that even imagining that hurts, but, this is something I could not have given him. This precious gift. This child that has become the link to bring me out of my exile. I don't know when my hand reaches out at cups that slight cheek, shaped so much like her fathers. Her skin feels delicate, soft but a little rigid in my palm. Such a pretty girl. I can tell she had been suffering before she was put in stasis, the dark circles around her eyes and the greyish pallor is indication enough. And now she is even worse. Frozen in time without even the luxury of dreams. A child should always be able to dream. Dreams help through pain. What if she was having a nightmare when they put her stasis? She would be stuck in it all this time. I hate even the thought of that because I know exactly what that feels like. I feel it deep in my heart that I must pull her out of it.

'Just a little longer, little flower.' I pray to her.

"Draco?" I look up to see Granger looking at me with a strange expression. A little worried and a little.. shocked.

"I don't think we should waste any more time. I need to do my own tests as well." I say taking my hand away from the Child's cheek and standing straighter.

"Yes, we are ready now. Harry wants to say the words."

In that moment I realize.

I will have to touch him.

I watch in dread as he undoes the buttons of his Dark blue robe, unraveling his dark grey shirt underneath, that fits him like… No. I should not look. I pry my eyes away and start unbuttoning my own light grey robe, one of many in the same colour with varying shades.

I unclasp my right cuff and roll the sleeve up to my elbow. Looking closely at it, covertly and critically to see if the potion has worn off enough to start showing the… strangeness that my skin would certainly take in his presence. I am still not sure about his touch.

No, don't think about that. I brace myself the best I can and gather control from all little nooks and crannies of my consciousness before I turn around and find him standing there only a foot or two between us. His eyes flitter to my left arm, I haven't rolled up that sleeve. Is he looking for the dark mark? What would his reaction be if I turned my sleeve up and showed him the unmarked skin? No mark can remain on a mature veela permanently except the one made by their one true mate. Everything else fades with time.

I kneel slowly looking straight into his green eyes, he looks baffled…

"What are you doing?"

"Kneeling obviously, as per requirement of the Unbreakable Vow." I say and look toward Granger tp concur with me. But Granger is busy staring at her Magitab. Of course she would have a Magitab. She probably has the whole Hogwarts and British library of magic stored in there. I make a mental note of getting one for Aali from here on my way back. He has been pushing for one for a while now if his wish-list is anything to go by. A few seconds pass before she looks up and finds me kneeling in front of a standing Potter and her brows shoot up.

I realize what we must look like.

But I am a Malfoy, I am never in the wrong, and I don't care about implications and I am too graceful to be so… lewd.

"Harry, he is right, you have to kneel."

Looking a little reluctant he decides to kneel, his auror issue tough pants with patches of dragon skin on the knees stretch with the movement and make me realize that I wouldn't care much about lewdness at all and most probably abandon all grace in a heartbeat to have those strong legs so tantalizing wrapped in toughened corduroy, wrapped around me. Mine, all mine…STOP!

I clear my throat trying to erase the image. Oh Gods of the Orient! Please give me strength.

It is ironic really, that the official Veela bonding ceremony also takes place in the exact same position where the veela and bonded mate kneel in front of the head of Veela order and witnesses and exchange vows.

This is the best I am going to get. The pain of death. Weight of an unbreakable vow, no chance of even a friendly hand shake after. He hates me too much.

Why do you hate me so much? Why do I love you so much when I don't even want to?

Because I love you, and it is not just the veela and the chosen mate.

I put my hand and wrist forward.

'With this hand I offer my devotion, my fidelity, my love, my body, my soul and my instinct'

He takes it without hesitation. The temperature of his skin higher than mine, his palms a little moist and warm and scorching and I am falling apart, I am going to disintegrate right in front of his eyes and he won't notice. Would he notice? I will die the moment that hands lets go of mine. How will I survive? Who am I kidding? I won't! I won't survive.

But I hold through. Think of the child. Think of the task, the mission. My life is counterfeit anyway. The pain won't matter for much long, the desire will give way to sheer madness and agony of withdrawal when all is done.

Hold it together!

"According to this, after the bonder says the intention in their own magical language, that the first, that is you Harry, will ask a certain number of vows of the other, which is Draco, with the second accepting those terms. Each time a term is accepted a thin stream of fire will be emitted from the Bonder's wand, weaving around the hands of the pair taking the vows."

"I see, not very complicated then…" he mutters.

I say nothing in response as I am unable to make a sound anyway.

"Yes, dangerously uncomplicated, no wonder Fred got himself spanked… Any way… the catch is, that if any of the vows Draco does not wholly accept the fire stream will not appear… this will be telling of his lack of honesty or simply that a term needs to be negotiated on until it is of satisfaction to the both parties."

"Alright."

"Having explained that, Harry, as your lifelong friend and confidante, I would like you to judge Draco on the gesture alone that he has agreed to take the vow and not actually make the vow. It is barbaric not to forget illegal…"

"Please don't plead and advocate for me Granger I don't want or need it and surely don't appreciate it." It comes out harsher than I intended, and I can clearly see Granger taken aback. She won't take this away from me, I won't allow it. If I want to make an unbreakable vow with Harry Potter, I will. I might regret it later, but right now I don't care when his hand is joined with mine.

I see his Jaw clench and nostrils flair a bit. A dangerous yet controlled look in his eyes.

"Yes Hermione, I don't think Malfoy needs your help, If he can't tell a kindness from weakness then it is his prerogative. Just do the binding, I will take care of the rest."

His grip tightens on my wrist warningly.

"Hoc votum impleri sub poena mortis…" she mutters.

The hum of the magic flowing from her thin sprightly wand is very recognizable.

"Will you Draco Malfoy, also known as Ustad Beyazlamak, vow to me, Harry Potter, that you will in no way or mien, plan to or intend to harm my family and friends in any way, including through any kind of proxies? And reveal to me if any such action is already in progress to your knowledge?"

I have to say that the vow is very aptly worded. Something that I would not have expected from the usually tactless Gryffindor. But as always, life is full of too many surprises.

It is easy, the agreement, because my truth is simple.

"I will." I simply say. In a blink of an eye a thin string of fire pours out of the tip of Granger's wand. Twirling and hissing and curved around our joined hands in a most beautiful display of bonding. I feel the slight shift in my own magic as it absorbs the magic of the vow.

The tightness of his face at once eases. Relief is showing clear and his grip become a few points less savage, now just snug and warm. I want to bathe in that warmth. I want to be the reason for his comfort and relief for eternity.

He takes a deep breath and a new kind of determination is now shining in his eyes.

"Will you Draco Malfoy, try to cure my daughter sincerely to the true best of your abilities and knowledge?"

I feel as if someone has kicked the air out of me. As my mind whirls in on itself.

Oh it was too much to expect anyways. That for once in my bloody, sodding fuck-fest of a life, something could go right.

I think it is Karma! Or some joke of god and universe on me? I don't know what I have done to be treated this way…?

How can universe allow me to be condemned to death by my one true mate twice in a life-time without him even knowing it!

How can it be that Harry Potter has to be the one every time to give me my death sentence?

He doesn't even realize it! It is such a normal and easy thing to say.

But put that in an unbreakable vow.

Cure his daughter to the best of my abilities.

If I don't do it to the best of my abilities, I die instantly because of the vow.

If I do cure his daughter to the best of my abilities, I might die anyways.

Because the best of my abilities, when all else fails might just result in my death anyways.

The only difference is, this time he is holding my hand. This time he is asking this of me, not telling me.

You tell me what I am supposed to say to that? The one time he asks this of me, with such sincere plea, with such faith in his eyes. One time, there is no distrust in his eyes, no boiling hatred. Why do I love you? How can I refuse?

Two words.

One option. If it is even an option.

"I will." I say and watch the binding string of burning magic tie me down to possible mortal doom once again.

The light on his face is blinding, the moisture in his eyes shines like diamonds. There is no hatred in them right now. Only gratitude and relief.

I did that. I am the reason for his relief. See.

He does not let go of my wrist for a few second longer just breathing and staring while water shimmers in those eyes, and when he does let go his hands find my frozen one. A warm grip. A caress.

"Thank you…" he whispers. Only meant for my ears. My heart. I am too paralyzed to return the gesture, and it is fleeting, just a moment and he is gone… His hands let go of mine as he rises from his kneeling position. Standing again in front of me like a benevolent god and I, forever his worshipper, kneeling and praying.

In this moment. Twice damned to death or not. I would easily sacrifice myself for my benevolent god.

There is just no surviving after this kind of… Living.

Chapter Text

 

 

Chapter 6 : Give me silence, water, hope. Give me struggle, iron, volcanoes.

 

I am unable to close my eyes.

Not because it is a new place.

Not because the colour of the bed curtain is green and is reminding me of…

No, none of that.

It is because of the knowledge that he is asleep just a few feet away, in the bedroom two doors down from mine.

It is as if I can feel the rise and fall of his breath move the house.

As if the whole house is breathing with him.

I had not even dared to dream that I will ever get to experience this.

Or just how hard to control it would be.

To stop myself from getting out of the bed and tip-toe to open one door and then go and stand by the door that separates me from him.

Because even in my thoughts, I can’t bear or dare to open that last door.

No that door must remain shut. Keeping the occupant of the room safe and sound and sleeping peacefully.

Dreaming, or not dreaming. It doesn’t matter.

I know I won’t be able to sleep at all.

So one door must open, but only for me to make my way upstairs to where the reason of my being here lies and start working on that stasis that I have been planning to put on her in the morning. It is the best time to do it.

The mantelpiece clock shows midnight hour and so I silently get up and get dressed.

I would like to say that I pass the door that… That I should never open, without pausing.

But I can’t. Even with all the Malfoy reserve and poise and control, I do stop.

I stand there frozen for an eternity. Listening to the breathing of its occupant.

But I am proud to say that I do not move any closer and stand right in the middle of the corridor.

Wondering what he looks like asleep, when all the weariness and bone-crushing sadness has melted off his face.

With nothing but his own skin and vulnerability for accompaniment, how does he look with all his defences down?

Just simple pure Harry. No vacancy, to titles, no past, no present, no future, no family, no worries, no weight.

My heart clenches at the thought.

How I would give my life’s blood to see him like that.

Neutral and unaware. Without any judgment and calculation in his eyes that is always there in my presence.

His scent is strong here in the cool stationery air of the corridor.

The most unique, beautiful, subtle and inexplicable scent in the whole world. The kind of scent you can never have too much of. The kind of scent that changes constantly yet remains the same, surprising you with the sheer pleasure it brings to your own senses, every single time.

The scent that makes you hungry and ache with longing.

The scent that comforts you when you are troubled, lights the fire of your passion.

The scent that asks you in no foiled words to claim and possess it, to bathe in it, devour it.

As it is, fate has made me an expert in ripping myself apart.

It is one of the many things I am best at.

So I rip myself away from that calling smell.

And silently make my way up to where my patient lies.

In a secondary third floor Ball-room, which has been turned into a healing room for now.

Albus, as I am supposed to call him, is fast asleep on the recliner just a few feet from the bed, the thick alchemy journal open on his lap, a muggle ball-pen still lodged in his fingers and a notebook open on the arm-rest.

He looks obscenely young in his sleep but less like his father than when he is awake. In this position he reminds me of Aali, who happens to be the worst research assistant in the history of the world when it comes to flickering through tomes. He falls asleep every single time, without fail.

I take the woolen shawl that hangs on the edge of the bed and carefully spread it over him so that his sleep is more constant before taking the journal and the notebook, with a gentle flick of the wand I am able to levitate his recliner towards the corner of the room that is out of the way but still in the range of the blessing of the fireplace.

I open the notebook to see that he has been doodling. Lots of genies for some reason. Perhaps he wants a magic wish. He doesn’t know yet that the genie is here already.

I knew there was very little that could help us in this particular endeavour in this particular journal.

If it was anything as tangible as alchemical imbalance, the Mungo’s Healers themselves would have found it. And might have cured it too.

It is the most common and explored method of healing, is it not? Feeling sick, take a potion. What people generally fail to understand is that most of the time the ailment is more spiritual than physical and that can best be cured by sorcery if anything at all.

I have sent Aali a list of books and extra things that I might need already and I am sure the delivery will come in less than twenty-four hours.

I put the journal and notebook on the desk that stands just by the bed ready to start my work, all I need is my own journal.

The alert to another presence in the room comes a bit slower than it should have, but it does nonetheless.

I turn around calmly, not to give away any kind of surprise at seeing who it is.

Sharp blue eyes are watching me with a ferocious expression.

Ginny Weasley.

She is still pretty but not as fiery a beauty as she used to be when the glow of her youth was all fresh. The dimples on the side of her mouth are a bit more pronounced and her eyes seem… wary and tired. And though she is well put-together for this situation and time of night there is a strange defensive air around her.

I suppose she was brought up-to-date by… her husband earlier in the day.

She would not have let me near her child without the knowledge of the vow and right now and I would be dodging bat-bogey hexes like mad.

Perhaps I let my guard go too slack by the way the other Weasley was handled regarding me being the new Healer of his niece. I should have known better.

So here she stands looking like she is about to explode.

That can’t be good.

Her eyes are fixed on me, nostrils flaring with every breath. I meet her eyes easily, and that is a feat in itself because whether it shows or no, a part of me wants to rip her apart for possessing what was supposed to be mine. To have shared the bed and love and life of my mate. How many memories they must have made together. No doubt, hundreds and thousands pleasant days, smiles and laughter, while I trudged and wallowed my way through rejection and abandonment. Countless moments of togetherness and love shared, while I screamed and shouted, isolated and suffering in wordless agony calling for him for twenty long years.

Twenty long years of knowing nursing and feeling the wound of rejection every day. I wonder in those countless painful nights while I screamed in longing that manifested itself in genuine physical pain, how many nights were they making love at the exact same time, while she screamed in ecstasy and I in pain?

I have never known a bigger masochist than myself. I take the medal even from my own Godfather.

Twenty long years of being forgotten by the one who meant the world to me in favour of this person who stands in front of me in this moment, angry and accusing and defensive, as if I would eat her children whole.

She has no idea how possible that is for me.

But that is not who I am anymore.

I am not someone who will let the beast control me.

So I do what I do best. Dismantle the bomb before it explodes. I am only allowed to explode in the twice fortified bedroom of mine in Kyrenia.

I slowly and very deliberately break eye contact with her and look towards her sleeping son, before looking back at her.

The small action works. And now she too is looking at her sleeping son. Defensive anger turning to tenderness for only a moment, but that is all that is needed. Only a moment. A moment makes you and a moment breaks you. Last time she and I were in close proximity, I had been the one to break. This time I am to make sure that everyone gets what they want and nothing breaks down. That everything goes according to plan. My plan. It would take at the least divine intervention to make this not go my way.

No, the likes of Ginny Potter née Weasley won’t mess this up.

I move away from facing her and decide to ignore her presence totally. It is after all something that worked perfectly well with Weasley.

“Do you…” her voice when it comes is strangled, low and almost broken down. I turn to look up at her as I pull my personal  journal out just as a reference to the special stasis that is needed to be caste on her.

“Do you really think she can be cured?” she finally asks and I am surprised that she is asking for my opinion. Ginny Potter has grown up after all.

“If she is ailing… Then yes,” I answer, flicking through pages and acutely tuned in to her movements where she stands. She is breathing deeply, one hand now clenching the iron-railing of the bed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks a little sharply.

“It means that if she is sick, then yes she can be cured, as every sickness has a cure.”

“And what could it be if not sick?”

“It could be just your bad luck… that is known to happen too.”

“Our bad luck? Is this a joke to you? What is that supposed to mean?” her voice grows a little higher as she steps towards me.

“Do you think I make unbreakable vows as jokes on people? Really? How dull can you be?”

She just stares at me, now totally confused.

“There is no diagnosis that tells that she has a sickness, it could be a very smartly inflicted dark curse or it could be a very well place jinx too with Potter being who he is…”

“You think that she was…cursed? Someone did this to her?” for a moment she has forgotten all hatred and anger towards me in favour of horror at the implication of my statement.

That is always good at dismantling explosive situations. Fear and despair easily curtails anger.

And now, to curtail horror and despair…

“No, I am not saying that that is the case, only it is a possibility even though it is somewhat unlikely, is still something that I am not totally discrediting until I have conducted my own tests.”

There, that statement is confusing enough. Best way to curtail horror and despair is confusion and irritation, which will never gain the momentum to turn into full out explosive anger again, since the mind is already exhausted.

Now back to ignoring.

“Mum?” I hear Albus’ groggy voice say.

Leaving the son to deal with the mother  I tune out their conversation flicking through pages of my journal.

I designed a special stasis spell for cases such as Lily Potter’s a few years back. Unfortunately it is a little complicated to be performed by any ordinary Healer. The caster has to be an expert with magical energies and able to perform more than rudimentary wandless magic. It has taken me three years to teach Aali to master this particular spell and still his success percentage is 70%. And he is a strong wizard, there is no doubt about it.

“Mr. Potter?” I call for my make-shift assistant.

“Yes?” come two voices at once from behind me.

I turn to look automatically.

How did I miss Potter coming up?

There he stands, next to his son and his wife. Clad in a dark woolen jumper and flannel trousers, her hand on his shoulder.

Her hand on his shoulder…

Her hand on his shoulder…

Stop it!

“Junior…” I utter surprisingly composed.

All of sudden I can feel the weariness.

All of a sudden I can feel the weight of sleep in my head.

Yes, the potion is wearing off. I need to make it back to the safety of my appointed room.

“Yes, Ustad?”

“I think we both should get some rest tonight, and by the by as you are all here, I must mention…”

I pause a moment as I come to a decision in my mind.

“…that I will be removing her stasis tomorrow morning. I would like to observe her for a few hours before I put my personally designed stasis on her which is paramount to her treatment.”

“The Gegirgen Stasis?” Asks junior Potter with a light in his eyes that both his parents notice.

“Precisely…”

“So that means that she would be receptive to treatments and nourishments but the seizures will be stalled off…”

“Yes and she would remain unconscious…But it will give us much more flexibility and perhaps we can strengthen her a bit during the process.”

“I can’t believe this…When I read about its existence I had found myself wishing that someone knew how to cast it! The paper claimed that it was hypothetically possible but next to impossible to execute and the few reported cases were not well catalogued and…now I can see why…”

“It is extremely complicated and impossible to simplify and believe me I have been trying for years since I designed it. It has taken my own prodigy three years to execute it.”

“You have a prodigy?” he asks in astonishment. I can see surprise on his parents face too who had been watching the exchange avidly so far.

“Of course I have a prodigy. You spoke with him on the floo, didn’t you?”

“That self-important git is your prodigy? But he said assistant and master!”

“Yes, he is that, prodigy, assistant and self-important git. But he is also a brilliant wizard and a capable Healer. And Master is English for Ustad isn’t it? He meant master as in his teacher, not as his owner.”

“Oh… I see now! I did think that was strange.”

“You wouldn’t have if you knew who he really was…” mumbles Mrs Potter.

It is a low shot coming at the most inappropriate time…and it stings. It stings badly. But I will not react. I am better than that.

“Who he really is Mum, is someone who came all the way from the edge of the continent to heal your daughter. Unlike us, he knew from the very beginning who we were and yet, despite the history between his family and yours he came here to help us, the least we can do is respect him for who he is now! Please leave the bloody war behind now…It was war! It is over now!”

He is fuming, though he is still somewhat composed while his mother looks at him with narrowed eyes. I dare to look at…him then, as to get a hint regarding what he thinks about the said speech just now.

An expression I least expected is there playing on that face.

Pride and approval.

How is this possible?

“I apologize for this Ustad, I think you are right, we both need the rest and I am sure Mum can keep watch over Lily, not that Lily needs it.”

He looks pointedly at his mother.

And there is the Slytherin that I was wondering about.

He is a wonderful snob when he needs to be.

How refreshing.

I spy Potter smiling a little as well.

It is not long before I am making my way downstairs followed by both Potter men. Albus makes his way further down to the ground floor kitchen mumbling about food leaving me and Potter alone in the corridor.

At this point, I feel too exhausted to be alone with Harry Potter and take the pressure that all my senses exert on me in his presence, so I try to make my way quickly to my room.

“Malfoy…Listen!”

I pause at the door of my room. The only door I am supposed to open. He stands by the door I am never supposed to touch. I do not look at him.

“I wanted to say that…”

“I don’t require your apologies or gratitude Potter, what I require is a fuss-free environment with as little interference as possible from unrelated people in order to do my work properly. That is something that I require and something you can provide...”

He nods simply as I can see him in my peripheral.

I do not wait anymore and enter the room shutting the door behind me.

Finally able to breathe!

“Sleep well…” I hear his distant voice in the corridor.

And in twenty years, I sleep well for the first time.

 

The Christmas decoration is up when I make my way upstairs in the morning after being fussed over for fifteen whole minutes by a house-elf piled with an uncountable number of hand knitted woollen hats.

His name is Wobby and he is a free-elf, honoured to work in the Potter household, is paid generously and has his own vault at Gringotts though he does not like Goblins.

Mind you, that during the whole fifteen minutes I did not say a word and only ate four slices of very sweet and very loaded French toast and 2 cups of sweet-tea.

I need to keep the nutrition level up for the repressing potion to work properly which I have already consumed, without putting any strain on my magic which I need at its best today.

Yes, that is it. I have not eaten so much because the toasts and taste reminds me strongly of Hogwarts and care free days.

Not at all.

I find Albus bent on some kind of manual accompanied by Granger and Weasley’s daughter and quite a number of other people conversing quietly enough, strangely.

I see a much more aged Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley seated on one of the couches with their daughter, gathered around the larger fireplace. A child who is somewhat of the same age as Lily sits by her bed reading in a low but audible voice from a magazine.

I stand and stare at the gathered crowd. Family. So many who care. How does that feel? To be cared for? To grow up in such a close knitted and huge family? So warm and open with their affections and hearts.

I remember the quiet and cool Christmases.

I remember the parties full of people who stood like they had a steel rod in place of a backbone, who never smiled, only smirked, who never looked, only calculated. I remember hours and hours of having to stay quiet and sit or stand straight and dream about playing Quidditch in the snow, by myself.

I remember opening the pile of presents.

Latest of everything. Perfect and expensive. Most probably out of a catalogue.

Without any personal touch.

“Mum thought that since we would be waking her up for a few hours, it would be better for more family members to be here, for the few hours of her consciousness.”

I see that he feels a little embarrassed by the situation.

“No, no…it is quite alright. The more positive energy the better.. But I will require them all to go when I start casting the stasis.” I move towards the bed.

“Oh do not worry about that! I will take care of it. Though…I do have a request to make…” He is now blushing and shifting on his feet, shooting covert glances towards the corner where sits…Granger’s daughter.

“Yes…She can stay as long as she is competent.”

I say, feeling like grinning all of a sudden.

Children.

“Oh brilliant! Thank you so much, I assure you that she is very competent! So...I will just go and floo dad? Rose and I have already prepared Lily for the removal of the stasis.”

I check the patient, gesturing at the reading boy to not get up and keep reading. His devotion creates a kind of delicate protective field around Lily which I find very amenable.

“What is your name young man?” I ask him once I am done with the diagnostics, the state of her muscles and bones being my primary concern. She is well-preserved enough, but the damage already done because of the seizures is something that will not come as easily together.

“Arthur Fredrick Weasley, sir.”

“And you are good friends with Lily?”

“The best, sir.”

“I see. What house are you in at Hogwarts?”

“Gryffindor, sir.”

“Is she going to be fine?” says the little voice as I sort the assortment of potions Albus has laid out for me to examine.

“Yes, she will be fine, I will do my level best.” I smile at him reassuringly.

It is not just a statement. It is a mission.

 A few minutes pass as I check the quality of all potions necessary, only to find them surprisingly well made.

I recite a few energy balancing incantations under my breath, weaving a solid net around her. Something to make her comfortable and help me focus and all the while I can feel little Arthur watching me with those large tawny eyes. He would look nothing like a Weasley if it was not for his red hair.

“I am just casting some energy centering spells that would make her more comfortable and help her orient to her surroundings better when she wakes up,” I say in a loud enough voice that is not addressing him, yet aimed at him at the same time.  It is always advantageous to reassure family so that they could provide some positive energy for the patient to feed on. It is a gift that is immensely useful and could be easily given without even knowing it.

His face transforms dramatically in the next second. He shoots a glance at his grandparents and then leans forward and whispers. “Are you a sorcerer?

“I am a Healer first and then a Sorcerer, if at all.” I wink at him conspiratorially.

“Wow! Lily would have so many questions when she wakes up. She wants to be a sorceress when she grows up.”

“Does she?”

“Yes, and she is really good with the ghosts at Hogwarts, even the Bloody baron comes to say hello when we visit the dungeons.”

That is almost impossible. Gryffindors ‘visiting’ the dungeons. As for the Bloody Baron, he can’t be bothered to say hello to the headmistress or master on his best day.

Perhaps I need a different kind of profile to work on here.

 

“What were her favourite subjects? What was she really good at?”

He furrows a little as if trying to remember.

“Er…She is very good in DADA, but that is because of Uncle Harry and Teddy…I mean Professor Lupin. She does well in Charms but I do better, Professor Flitwick thinks I am gifted…she does very well in Herbology, but Professor Longbottom is the best teacher of them all, so no one actually fails his class and he is also our head of house…Though I think she is the best in Transfiguration. She is the best in the year. She was gifted with a silver pin from Headmistress McGonagall for outstanding performance in the very first monthly test. ”

“Professor Lupin isn’t the head of your house?”

“No, he manages the Quidditch leagues.”

“And Potions?”

He makes a face.

“No…she doesn’t like Potions but somehow does alright in them, better than most in our year. Professor Smallridge keeps hinting that if she pays attention she might get a distinction.”

Smallridge, a Slytherin three years my senior. I remember her clearly. She was one of the prettiest girls in the school and was marginally polite to juniors. Not that anyone ever dared to be impolite to me in our own house. Junior or senior.

I look at the boy who is now watching me carefully.

I smile at him and am about to ask him about the Quidditch adventures in order to distract him from his keen observation when another group of people enters the place.

The Golden trio alongside a tall and broad man in his late twenties from the look of it, with a mane of jet-black hair and blue-grey eyes that are sharp and slightly feline in shape in a way that is extremely familiar.

He reminds me of my mother and I finally realize who he is.

Teddy Lupin.

My cousin and Potter’s godson.

Accompanying him is a petite, heavily pregnant, blonde girl and I can straight away feel her Veela heritage. It is much diluted, but it is right there in her energy and magic. I can tell. Though I am sure that because of the repressing potion she won’t be able to detect my Veela.

“Cousin Malfoy…” Teddy Lupin makes his way towards me with a purposeful stride, a strong hand at offer. His expression is neutral and guarded. I take his hand, warm and firm and feel his magic. Ferocious, strong, a little rough around the edges.

His expression changes to a bit of surprise when our hands finally meet and a simple smile comes on his face.

“My grandmother told me all about you…It is nice to finally see you and put a proper face to the name…all she had were baby pictures of you.”

“I hope they were flattering ones..” I smile back.

“You were wearing a frock in most of them…”

“Ah yes…those…Parents do sometimes have a cruel sense of humour.”

“I wouldn’t know…” his cheerful expression dims a little before he presses my hand in his again and leans closer.

“But I’ll tell you what, fix our Lily and I will not make them public spectacle.”

I nod as positively as I can. Feeling the long suppressed and ages old guilt surface again.

How my parents had given his father such a tough time resulting in his sacking from Hogwarts.

How I had witnessed my aunt killing her own niece and her husband without a second thought.

He finally moves towards the rest of the crowd where his wife is already. I am thankful for it.

“I am sorry for the crowd, but I promise they will leave…At least this room after saying hello…” I fight my way out of the cobwebs of one of the worst memories I have and look at the source of the reassurance. Potter junior closely accompanied by Rose Weasley. Both of them are vibrating with anticipation.

“It is alright. I am assuming you know how to remove this stasis?”

“I do Ustad.”

“That is good, please ask all your relatives to move to the gents salon next door…” Rose quickly moves before something else comes out of my mouth.

“Once she stabilizes we can call them back one or two at a time to meet her. I am assuming again that your sister is closer with your father?”

“She is…much closer than she is with mum.”

“Perfect, ask him to stay behind then, but by the east window. I request this because that will centre his positive energy when amalgamated with the natural source of light in the place.”

“Really? I would have never thought of that.”

I see people moving out of the small door on one side that leads to the said parlor. Rose quickly returns, accompanied with Potter.

“So here is the plan. You will remove the stasis Albus, and Miss Weasley will administer the potions straight away in the exact order as I have arranged them on the side table. I will sit at some distance and observe her Sympathetic energies and note the fluctuation as she regains consciousness properly. Besides, I think it will be good if she sees a familiar face first.” The youths nod vigorously in understanding.

“What if she has a seizure straight away?” Asks Potter standing a few feet away from where the three of us are crowding.

“If that occurs, which it might, eventually if not straight away. I think I will be able to relieve her temporarily. As cruel as it may sounds, Mr. Potter, it is necessary for me to witness a seizure. Perhaps I will notice something everyone else failed to notice.”

His eyes mist a little with helplessness while the younger one nods but looks away. I clasp Albus’ in a lame attempt to comfort and turn around to conjure a stool. While Rose guides the older Potter to go and stand by the eastern window from which the light in filtering in. It is strangely sunny at the moment. I take my perch, just an inch outside the Sympathy Ritual Circle which I had drawn last evening, Lily Luna Potter fully in sight, I need to be stable and alert for this.

I untie my hair, open the collar button of my shirt and roll my cuffs up, trying to center my own energy. Checking and re-checking my own stability. I can feel ‘him’ where he stands, but it is not sharp. A warm presence if anything. Wand clasped in hand I inhale deeply. Feeling the scent distil through my lungs, I exhale and signal at Albus to start.

A simple two-word incantation.

“Exsolutio Stasis”

The bindings of stillness fall from the frail body immediately. Her chest moves and fists clench and she inhales loudly.

Once…

Twice…

Her energy flashes back into being, alongside her magic.

She is startled, confused and in pain.

The kind of pain and irritation a bright light causes to one’s eyes when they have remained in the dark too long.

That is how every nerve in her body feels like..It is clear as day in her magical sympathy.

I have very rarely seen such clear transmission of energies as those that are coming from the girl.

A born sorceress!

And a powerful one.

A sorcerer by birth is as rare as a Male Veela.

Which is very very rare.

One or two every generation at most.

No, not just in Britain. But around the world!

But…the question is how? And why?

I am sure that her mother, though a powerful witch, carries no talent such as this.

As for the father. Well. He is such an exception to any rule possible that it could be a possibility. Though his sorcery, if he has it, has never stood out to me. Not that I have  the strength or will-power to delve into his psyche. It is next to impossible for me to do without losing control even with the potion.

I merge deep into her psyche, using my intrusive but painless method of Legilimency or as Aali calls it “surfing.”

The stream of the magic as powerful as she apparently is should come in a straight line and it does. It is a straight, wide, translucent and milky white stream as my mind visualizes it, a sign of purity. It is very rare to witness such a phenomenon as this. I glide into it. It is a beautiful and positive energy, even and cool, and trusting, until there is a bump in the flow and a small piece missing. I glide forward and observe closely, as the stream tries to fill the small hole but is unable to. The flow is even around the hole, but is unable to close it. I move further ahead and notice another hole in the flow, this time bigger, a few moments pass and the holes keep coming and bigger every time, until the once clear ribbon or stream of energy is prone with holes in the likeness of Swiss cheese, and the flow keeps interrupting until the overflow from behind starts over-lapping and starts flowing into the physical part of the psyche. Which is when I start feeling the light shocks. I want to go deeper, reach and observe the magical core, but the frequency of shocks is increasing drastically.

By the time I am out of her Energy and Psyche, she is starting to shake. And I can clearly see the over flow of magic pouring out of her.

I do have the power to temporarily freeze the magical core. Though that will also stop her physical symptoms, but that can be cured individually by normal fever potions and strengthening potions. This way we can give her some more nutrition potions so that she gains more strength before I release her magical core again to have a full seizure which is sure to come as soon as it is released. Obviously freezing her magical core would stretch me out a lot, but it is doable, for a few hours at least. I finally get up and quickly move towards the bed casting an engulfing spell as I signal Albus and Rose both to get out of the way which they both do promptly.

The child has not yet gone into a full on seizure, a steady shaking and body temperature is stable at 101 degrees. I lean down and press my lips to her forehead as I place my wand right on her heart and draw the designated Rune of containment and another just by her navel for transference. My magic flows evenly out of me as her magic takes heed and flows after my guidance and slowly but gradually stops flowing out and becomes stationary as I recite silent incantations against the balmy skin of her forehead. I am almost done still submerged in my work, when something tugging at my hair brings me out finally. I feel small fingers tangling and rubbing my long hair between them. As if inspecting. I notice the calm breaths brushing just under my chin. The shaking has stopped.

I feel the heaviness of a bound core in every muscle of my body as I pull myself together, and straighten legs shaking.

I small wrist comes with me some way before the fingers reluctantly untangle from my hair. And I am captured by a pair of huge Blue – green eyes staring at me in awe.

“Hello…” I smile down at the heart-breaking beauty of her. I can feel my forbearance straining at the seams, because now I know…

“Are you an angel?” her small mouth utters, eyes shining. I can feel all occupants of the room closing around her, but her eyes remain fixed on me, as if looking inside me, cutting deep into me.

“Lily? Sweetie?” Potter leans in crowding my space, and all of a sudden it is too much. I retreat and give him space as quickly as I can, afraid of my legs giving way underneath me as I trudge back towards the recliner by the other window.

“Is he an angel dad? Is he?” I hear the child’s voice behind me.

No, I am not an angel dear Lily, I am only a man. Can God please understand this for once that I am only a man? That I can only bear so much? That I can only bear so many tragedies?

“No, sweetie, he is a Healer, here to help you…”

Yes, here to help, to save you. To save and help this little miracle. Little miracle. A beautiful soul. I finally find myself in front of the recliner and sit down on it as my mind and body protest against the strain. I close my eyes without even wanting to and the last thing I hear before I lose track…

“But dad…I saw his wings…”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

Chapter 7 : All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of mind.

 

I wake up with a woollen sheet  thrown over me. In the soft light of the day filtering from the window I recognize that it is a strange brown red and sage in colour, cubes joined with cubes and more cubes with a huge, golden, upside down ‘L’ in the centre.

“I mean, I have seen a lot of magic, Albus, I mean I see Healer Taransky and Volana on a daily basis and they are called miracle workers for a reason! I have seen them do brilliant magic and magic that was beyond brilliant, but…that was just…”

“I know…”

“I mean, he used runes and Sympathy and Archaic ritual and Touch magic all in one….and…I don’t even know where to start to…even….

“I know, Rose. I know!”

“I mean, I am a stickler for rules, you know me, it is in my genes and that magic was just beyond any rules... I have not seen it even written as a reference! And I am an even worst case of a book worm than even mum…and I…

“Merlin, Rose! I know, okay! I know! I know that he did something tailored for this situation and as much as I would love to learn the exact magic, I don’t think it is possible. I know it might save countless lives and he probably has saved countless lives… but I don’t think…”

“I know, Albus. I know…”

“Did you see how exhausted he was after…the process?”

“I saw…Do you think we should check on him?”

At this point I slowly move my head, as if still asleep just to stop them from checking on me.

I slowly spread my magic inside myself. I won’t let them check me, but I can easily check myself.

I don’t know how long I have remained asleep, but I do know that it has not been long enough and I am still exhausted.

My contact with her is still intact fortunately, my hold on her magic unforgiving.

That is all that matters at this point.

“What do you think Lily meant about the wings?” I hear Rose Weasley ask and my body freezes for a moment.

Wings?

Did I in some way…?

I check myself internally again.

No itching or aching anywhere.

And they can never come out under the Repressive Potion that I am consuming.

It is impossible.

“It could be the day light playing tricks on her eyes. They have remained closed for a long time, haven’t they? Because I don’t think she could be dreaming during stasis that is impossible. Or maybe he attempted some form of Legilimency on her during her almost seizure and that is just how her mind perceived him. An angel that had come to rescue her.”

“Oh my…Albus! Are we nursing a little crush on someone?”

“Of course, I am, he has already exceeded all my estimates and my estimates were already very exceeded. I have the biggest man crush possible right now! He is the superman of Healers; every kid has a crush on superman. It’s a given!”

“Calculated! Always so calculated! At times I wonder how anyone can even imagine that the hat made the wrong decision.”

“The hat, Rose, can never, ever, ever be wrong!”

And then they are both sniggering like the teenagers that they are.

I feel as if I have just won a marathon. Exhausted, fatigued but satisfied.

Not for long.

“Is he alright?” I feel the strings pulling again as the deep tenor of his voice breaches my satisfaction. Here comes the bane of my existence.

I hear Albus shuffle from somewhere close.

“Well…More or less, he seems exhausted, but I doubt he is in any real danger.”

What are you doing here, Potter? You should be with your wife and child who has just woken up after how many days?

“Rose, Victoire was asking for you and Albus, can you go downstairs and get a nice big warm cuppa from Wobby for Mr Malfoy?”

The children are quick to follow instructions when they come from Harry Potter it seems.

I am hoping against hope that…

“Malfoy?”

The voice is very close. I can smell his cologne in the heat that is radiating from him. But that is not what is most disturbing.

It is the softness in that voice. Oh dear Merlin, please. Don’t make him soft now! Don’t make him pity me! I want his respect. Only respect. That is all I can take.

And as if I am not drowning in sensation already, I feel sturdy fingers taking hold of my wrist.

Left wrist. And the cuff is being tugged up.

And I don’t know why my heart is wrenching the way it is in disappointment.

Did I not just claim that all I want is his respect. Which should not hurt me really if it is not given.

Harry Potter is not checking your wrist for your well-being you stupid fool!

He is checking for your Dark Mark.

It is so strange and impossible that I still have these kind of allusions.

I am disgusted with myself for even hoping. Even thinking in that direction.

“Satisfied, Potter?” I spit before I even want to as I flash my eyes open just in time to see him startled.

“I hope this will help you with your still lingering doubts about me being a Death Eater?”

He wrenches away from me as if I had just burned him.

Nothing close to how much you have burned me.

“What are you talking about?”

The expression on his face is a bit too close to real.

“Are you wondering how I got rid of it? You do realize that I am a Healer, someone who dabbles in healing magic this part of the world has not even dreamed of?”

His brow is now furrowed and he opens his mouth to say something, which I am sure will be pretty much sharper than razorblades but at that moment Albus decides to step in with a huge cup of something steamy hot.

As much as I hurt, I don’t want to make things bad between Potter and his children.

“Ustad! I am so glad to see you up. Wobby already had a hot chocolate ready for you, extra large, extra everything really.”

Before I know I have a steaming mug of hot chocolate in my hand. Very American.

“Do you want a small dose of Pepper-up in there? You still look a bit tired.”

Pepper-up never did anything for me. So I simply shake my head as I place the mug on the window ledge and straighten up. My back protests a little but then all my muscles are protesting with fatigue that comes from stretching one’s magic.

“How is Lily?” I ask as I fish out my leather hair tie from my front pocket.

“She is awake, more awake than she has been in months, and Victoire is monitoring her. She has not even shivered or shook for a second since you…Since you did whatever it was that you did, it has been two hours. And Rose is already through quarter of the Potions you had sorted for Lily’s consumption.”

‘It should be possible to hold it back for another six hours without any complications. Beyond that it could be dangerous for me, especially because I need to cast that Gegirgen tonight.’

I look up as I tie my hair and realize that I had been thinking out loud.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did you see? What is your diagnosis?”

I don’t know what to say in answer to that. I can’t just blurt out what I found wrong with Lily Potter. I know exactly what is wrong with Lily Potter, as I am sure did most of the Healers. The ‘Why’ of the situation must have been where they were stumped and that is where all the questions lead, and that is the question that I will have to find the answer to.

“I won’t mind telling you at all when I have reached a diagnosis, but I haven’t yet.”

“What? Then what was all that?” this time the father asks taking a step towards me as I stand up.

“That was me preventing a seizure from happening. That was me confirming what is causing these seizures.”

“And what is causing these seizures?”

“An imbalance in her magical core, I am sure many Healers have already told you that, Potter.”

A murderous glint crosses that face, the kind I only saw in school when I taunted him on his dead parents.

“And that is your diagnosis? Imbalance in her magical core?” is the gritted out query.

“No, Potter! Pay attention! I have already told you I have not reached a diagnosis yet. The diagnosis would be WHY is there an imbalance in her magical core? The diagnosis would be if the imbalance is natural or inflicted? The diagnosis would be HOW to cure it?”

“But there is no cure for imbalance in the magical core, we already know that.” I finally look at the boy, standing a few feet away, white as a sheet with a tinge of green.

“There is a cure for everything, Albus Potter! Even for an imbalance in magical core! And that is why I am the only one that can help her. She does not need just a Healer. Main stream Healers keep chanting this useless moniker because they are too stubborn to go out of their line as a Healer and look for alternative methods. They say the magical core can’t be reached or cured because it is the inner sanctum of one’s soul and mind. But that is only because of the method they choose. They choose a method that is non-intrusive. You can’t heal a wound that is inside your stomach by applying a salve on top of your clothes.”

“So what are you saying? You can heal her magical core? What will you do? Stop her magic? Make her a squib? We already asked for that, the Healers said that it is not possible!”

“But they never told you why it is not possible for them, did they? It is because your sister is not an ordinary witch, Albus! She is a bloody Sorceress! A bloody born-sorceress!”

 

There is pin drop silence in the room for a few seconds as both father and son stare at me as if I  have grown a second head.

“A sorceress?”

“Yes, a sorceress. It is an extremely rare phenomenon. Once every generation or so. It is a male-dominated niche, but your Lily is an exception. Which is why it has made it so impossible for any of your normal Healers to even get past her normal defences in order to even try to cure her. She not only needs a Healer but a sorcerer too. Which fortunately, is exactly what I am. So I was able to enter her defences and put her imbalanced magical core in a freeze-hold by connecting my magic to hers. But there is only so long that I can hold on. Her core is already too volatile to take any more risks with it. So I need to put her in the permeable stasis and then I need to find a cure to her problem.”

“What do you need?” Ask the boy and father at the same time and I am only too happy for the colour in their skins.

“I need you to look into my eyes and concentrate. You can blink but not too much. Alright?”

“Okay, I’m looking. They are pretty and light-grey…no…silver, with rainbow shades. And really, really pretty.”

I hear snickers in the back ground.

“You don’t need to speak actually. Only tell me how your eyes feel when you concentrate on mine.”

“A little ticklish?”

“Explain ticklish…”

“Umm… like, tickling behind the eyes.”

“Hmmm…how does it feel now, still ticklish?”

“Oh! Goodie! It is gone!”

“Good!”

“What is your name?”

“Guess?”

“How can I guess? I have never met you before.”

“Tough luck then!”

“I did see your wings you know…”

I pause in my packing of my satchel and look at the girl who has leaned closer and whispered.

“Really?”

“Yes, I saw your wings and I also saw you crying…lots of crying. And I also saw your hair short.”

Of course she did. She is a sorceress, I had to let go of my defences to enter through hers, so while I looked into her psyche, she shuffled through the surface of mine, must have only reached memories.

“But I am not going to tell anyone. I promise. It just sort of got out earlier, but that was just one-time. I promise. I just want to know why you are so so sad and hurting?”

I stare at her for a moment contemplating how to answer that question.

“I…lost everything…but I am working to fix it, I won’t be sad for much longer.”

It is bizarre that I find myself answerable to this child. I often ache for a confidant. Someone I can pour my heart out to. Someone who would understand. But it is a lonely road. I can never stand to be close to people, only Aali and Sarah to some extent.

“Ustad, I found this, do you think this could work?”

I am thankful for the interruption and turn away from the striking blue-green eyes that are dipped in sadness. Of all the people in the world, Lily Potter does not deserve to carry my ache in her heart.

I walk out of the hall leaving her in care of Rose Weasley and little Arthur.

I look at the carved jade candelabra. It is absolutely hideous but somehow clean. Clean of energies and dark magic and very original, ancient and authentic jade stone.

It would sell for a fortune.

“How auspicious…jade…Jade is the best for healing and protection. Also sorcery.”

“This is jade?” Albus’ eyes goggle as he brings the deep green object closer to his eyes.

“Yes, it is a pure root jade stone and clean too. What did you think it was?”

“Marble, I thought it was simple marble.”

“You are standing in the ancestral home of the pure-blooded Blacks, believe me when I say that you would not find anything less than gold-plated, precious materials in this place. In that respect, they were worse than even my father’s family. At least we Malfoys had better taste. Blacks were all just…a touch mad.”

“Wasn’t your mother a Black too?”

“She was the sanest Black I ever came across, that is including the extended family, and I never did get to meet aunt Andromeda, or I am sure she would have been the sanest in my opinion, better than even my mother, who went ahead and actually married my father willingly.”

“Dad told us about your mother. How she saved his life and how he could have never defeated Voldemort if it wasn’t for her.”

How nice of Potter to tell his children the story. How my mother lied in the face of Voldemort and saved his life in exchange for the news of my safety. It is a wonderful story. But I wonder if Potter told his children what happened as a consequence of that action?

“Did he also tell you how my mother died saving my life because the remaining Death Eaters had attacked us in the ministry’s custody, in an appointed safe-house, tipped off by someone in the ministry and that the ministry couldn’t spare any help in time to save her life because we were not on the priority list, being Death Eaters and everything?”

“What?” the horror in those green eyes makes me realize that I should not have lashed out this way, not at this person.

“Yes, but her death did ensure my safety and that to her was the only thing that mattered. She could never see harm come to me. No matter how much horror came to me in the process of preventing me from harm. That was her madness, I suppose.”

He is still staring at me as if I am some strange species.

“It was war, Albus. None of us expected to survive and that includes your father. That is the only thing that can keep you sane through the atrocities of war, the realization that you can die at any time. The realization that you may have to encounter the most extreme hate and most severe love and that they could both lead to the one end; death. This is why I asked you not to judge those who have suffered through war too quickly. It is not something you can just turn off.”

There is a pop that startles us both as the be-hatted house-elf appears out of thin air.

“Masters! Wobby has prepared a Christmas feast in honour of Miss Lilu’s awakening. Wobby was wondering if he could set it up in the ballroom so that Miss Lilu could enjoy the Christmas feast with her family?”

I glance at a sheepish Albus.

“Mum…” he mumbles.

It is infuriating. But I know that I can’t really stop it from happening.

“Very well, Wobby, You have one hour to arrange and then clean up. No more.

“One hour is enough, Master Ustad.”

I turn to Albus once the elf is gone.

“I need to work on this, once it is all over, come to my room, I might need some help.”

“Err…Wouldn’t you like to eat something before…”

“No, I am not hungry and some magic I prefer doing without a full stomach.”

He thankfully does not push the question any further.

I slowly make my way down to the second floor feeling as if my head could explode with the influx of memories and sensations and revelations.

I have no idea regarding how I am going to fix Lily. I have no idea why the problem is there in the first place. All I know is that I need to ask some questions. Questions only a few people can answer.

And it is only the second day.

How I am going to survive for so many days? I have no idea. 

I lie down on the bed, feeling the exhaustion seep deep into my bones. As if the fatigue would never leave my muscles.

I have been through enough hell in this life, I wonder what awaits me in the next.

Because I do know that there is an afterlife.

I hope there is peace. Peace and numbness.

I close my eyes. I know I need to meditate and reel in all magic properly. That is the only way I can keep the freeze-hold over her magic before I put her under the stasis again and start investigating and treating.

It does make sense that she is a sorceress. Born with the extra bit of magic. Power of mind, magic and persuasion. Ability to bend the rules of natural elements with the power of her mind.

I delve deep into my magic where it connects and surrounds her. Her magic, though steady has a watery feel to it, hence it manifested as a stream. A stream with invisible obstructions making it over flow. This is why her magic easily took to be confined inside my induced freeze-hold. Had it been fire or air, I would not have been able to hold it for as much time as it is possible right now.

It must have shown clearly when her magic first manifested.

I need to ask questions.

Questions about her childhood and the events surrounding the first displays of her magic.

I need to interview and test Potter himself to see what  his personal level of sorcery is. Or as they call it here, wandless magic.

It is very impressive as much as I have seen it yet, but I need to know its extent.

And, the most difficult query of them all, but the most logical one. The one which is unavoidable, but might be most painful for me ask. It might just rip me apart.

What were the conditions of Lily Luna’s conception? What was the couple’s state of mind, state of magic?

Because, if the problem lies with the magical core, then, it has come from the parents. Magical children are somewhat different in conception than Muggle children. More so between a wizard and a witch. I need to know when exactly she was conceived, because magical parents always know when they have made a child, the magic joins and it is an unforgettable experience. In my trek as a Healer around the world, I have even helped birth a few magical babies, especially difficult ones.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have produced a sorceress, a powerful one, which means the magic of the parents joined, and joined intensely.

‘No! Don’t visualize the process during which it joined, stay focused. You need to solve this even if it feels like a knife cutting you open.’

But, somewhere in that process and joining, intense joining, something went wrong. And I need to understand what it was.

I can think of a few reasons actually.

Number One: Potter is an Auror, and was most probably on field duty in the days Lily was conceived. He could have been in a duel which drained his magical energy. Or could have been under a spell that interfered or leeched at his magic. It is one of the lesser known and more common after effects of being under a curse.

 

Number Two: Ginny Weasley was suffering recently from some kind of magic induced hormonal disorder. It is very common, and often main-stream Healers recommend Cherrikona extract as a diet supplement for two weeks, but, all it does is induce a drug-like effect that makes you feel cheery and active. But Cherrikona is a looping agent and in some cases has been known to form an incurring magical energy loop which can then be transferred into the core of the child conceived in that time and in extreme cases, turn a magical child into squib as the magical core disrupts itself by looping and flowing back into itself.

Number Three: Though Potter is a half-blood, and Ginny Weasley is a pure-blood, they do come from very old pure-blood families which might have been linked somewhere in the upper branches of the family-tree and this might be a genetic magical disorder that has by some thousand in one chances manifested in Lily Potter.

Number three might be improbable, but it is not impossible. I am a living example of recessive genes coming to manifest into something strong, pure and rare enough. I am a full-male-Veela, not a hermaphrodite, which all Veela who are not female are. It is probably the reason I am so much more powerful than even ordinary Veela, and also why my own magic is killing me, the way it is. My heat is not so severe just because of the urge to reproduce, but because of the urge to protect and possess.

I take a deep breath. Clearing my mind and lodging the three points in my mind properly in order to retrieve them when I need to ask the question. I run my mind over the facts I have in hand again.

Lily Potter was born on 10^th of December 2007.

Conceived somewhere in March…

March…

March is spring…

Spring…spring…

March, I always spend indoors.

Because of the…heat.

I feel as if the world is coming to a stop.

As if my mind is going into a freeze-hold.

No! That is impossible! Every part of me shrieks in horror.

No! it can’t be…Potter rejected me. Potter has no connection to me.

Potter is not effected by…

I sit up quickly only for the stilled world to start spinning again with a whoosh.

I grab my head trying to steady myself.

As my mind whirls out of control.

Could this be? Could this be because of some broken, distant connection between me and Potter.

Could Lily be suffering because I was the one effecting Potter’s magic in some impossible way while she was conceived?

I would have been in heat, if the maths and calculations are correct. Nine moons. Children are always born with in the ninth moon.

Unless Lily Potter was born premature, which she was not or it would have been mentioned in the report, she was conceived during my heat.

Is it possible that my heat has been having an effect on Potter’s magic for all these years?

If it has, then…

No, I should not even allow myself to think it. It is improbable, impossible, inconceivable…

‘It might be the only explanation to the other little thing that has been nagging you all this time since you have implemented your magic onto Lily Potter’s.’

The little strange fact that the daughter’s magic profile is such a perfect mirror of the father’s  instead of the mother’s which is the case one time out of four hundred.  

She is a sorceress probably because the father is a sorcerer. An  untrained one he may be, but he is a sorcerer nonetheless.

Need to do more genetic profiling. Need to ask questions. Need to ask those kind of questions.

I am startled out of my shuddering thoughts by a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

“I come in peace…and bearing treats…”

The coldness in my core immediately warms up a bit. His voice alone, on the other side of the door can do this to me. With almost silenced thoughts and a worthwhile effort I am finally able to open the door.

He enters with a platter held out with an assortment of baked goods and, without a warning, hands it to me.

And more over shuts me up with a single worded command.

“Eat!”

I feel the weight of that one word and look down at the platter.

Pies, small, miniature pies.

And almost a dozen of them.

“Am I supposed to eat all of these?”

I know it is sneaky of me.

“No, but please have some, they are wonderful, and you need the strength, from the looks of it.” he says from the corner of the room where a study desk stands washed in the gloomy day light from the window.

 

I shoot a look at the full-size dresser mirror to see a ghost of a person staring out of it at me, holding a platter and looking like an idiot.

I watch him from the corner of my eye, as he settles against the edge of the table, so no intention of leaving.

I can’t help but feel a twisted pleasure for this sudden care and concern for my health and a bit of fussing. Over me! 

He might have an agenda for caring for me, but still.

He is here when his house is full of his family and his beloved daughter sits awake for a few hours.

I can hear the buzz of all the people present in the back ground, but what matters right now is here and now, and him and I.

I sit on the bed facing him and place the platter on the side table. I chose a random miniature pie and take a bite.

It is chocolate custard.

One of my favourites as a child.

And it is glorious. The crust is perfectly salted and flaky and screams with butter and the custard inside is pleasantly warm and smooth and extra sweet mixed with the bitterness of chocolate. And it has been ages since I tasted something so good and felt so fulfilled and just as hungry by a single bite. It is not before I have totally demolished the pie in the next few moments that I notice eyes fixed on me and make the mistake of looking at him.

There is a pin-drop silence for a moment as if the time has slowed down. His eyes are fixed on me, my lips to be exact while his own mouth is clenched closed, his obscenely reddish pink lips pressed into a thin line. I remember how they always have been that reddish pink in colour, so beautiful, and male and asking to be kissed and made even redder. How much time I have spent fantasizing about these lips? I can’t start to calculate.

Finally, the silence breaks abruptly as something bumps against the floor in the room above, followed by a strange whine.

He clears his throat unnecessarily and points to the platter, looking as if he is coming out of a daze.

“There might be savoury ones in there too. It is Weasley Christmas tradition. The miniature pies are always surprises. You never know which one you will end up with.”

“These are really good.” I smile with as much effort as I can conjure.

I can’t help the searing pain I feel inside me at the loss of a magical moment. It might have been the only one I would ever have, and now it is gone. This one moment, when I was all that he was thinking about.

I pick up another pie and take a small bite just to do something with myself while he sits there now looking out of the window.

Now, he can’t even bear to look at me. Now that the reality has sunk in. I am Draco Malfoy. And my beauty is an illusion.

I can’t even recognize the taste of the pie in my hand to recognize its filling. I wait in silence, chewing endlessly and needlessly, before I call the courage forward to end this moment. Here and now.

“What do you want, Potter? You could have sent the house-elf with these…”

It is as if he is pushed out of a day-dream, he turns to look at me again. And I can see him visibly swallow something down. Anger? Frustration? Nervousness? Bitterness? Defiance? Unease? What are you swallowing down, Harry Potter?

“I…I just wanted to say that…I was not looking for your Dark Mark earlier...”

I can’t help but stare at him.

“I was checking your pulse, I wanted to make sure you were alright, because you looked…”

He pauses and shifts restlessly and then gets off the table and takes two quick steps towards me.

And I feel frozen on the spot, breathless at the possibilities of what is about to happen.

He stops at the foot-edge of the bed and looks at me pensively.

“I just wanted to…I wanted to say that I don’t think you are a Death Eater. If you were a true one, if I thought you were a proper one…I would never have in a million years testified and advocated for you in front of the Wizengamot. You were just a child like the rest of us and you only followed the lead. I just wanted to say that I understand where you stood, now, that I have my own family. I was also just a kid, bitter from the war, and being through the wringer so many times with nothing solid to hold on to…And it was always so easy to yell at you…We have always been pretty nasty to each other, it was the easiest thing to do…but, I guess, that what I want to say is…Thank you…thank you for doing this and also for tolerating Ginny, mostly…And for Albus…I have not seen him like this for a long time.”

I have no idea if this is a confession? An apology? A peace-offering? What is this? It is not exactly gratitude? The last part maybe, but what is the rest of it? Understanding?

I am too over-whelmed to actually pin-point how this makes me feel?

At that very moment, that could have not been more blissfully long and painfully short at the same time, the doorway fills with Albus Potter accompanied by a golden…dog. And my thoughts, the crippling pressure of them comes to a full stop and hone in on one thing.

Oh no!

The dog almost scrambles to a halt behind its apparent master and cranes its neck to the side.

Oh please, Merlin, no!

And before I can finish the thought it is leaping inside the room and plunging on his hind-legs and right into my lap.

No one said anything about a stupid dog being in my work place!

“Bilbo! Bilbo! Down!”

But it is too late. I am already being licked ear to ear and smothered in doggy kisses.

Dogs find Veela irresistible, just like small children find Veela irresistible.

As do most animals, especially domestic ones. I can be assured that my face will be covered in dog saliva and I will have feet full of dog constantly if I ever am rescued from this smothering. I don’t want to zap it.

In time, the dog is removed from my person and is being chastised.

In time, I turn to look at ‘him’ to see him smiling widely at me as his eyes sparkle in the suddenly golden day-light filtering from the window.

And I can’t help but smile back.

And despite what looms on the horizon for me, it is one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

And I will be damned if I don’t cherish it.

This might be the last time I smile like this in this life time.

And if it is shared with him, then it is worthy of its unique position all the more.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

Chapter 8 : Seeing You So Tangible And So Close; How Do I Pay, With What Do I Pay?

I watch closely and keenly as slowly but surely her sleep turns into stasis. Shutting down some avenues of constant exchange of energies and keeping open some others. It is a meticulous process which takes patience, time and concentration. It is very similar to picking up a stick from the bottom of a pile without letting the ones above it move. It takes precision and accuracy.

'Gegirgen' means 'permeable' in Turkish and that is exactly what Gegirgen stasis is. It is a permeable stasis spell, which allows the caster to manipulate some aspects of a body under stasis without having to take off the stasis. The body is amenable to external influences but some aspects remain frozen in time.

I look around the room for the first time in more than an hour. My internal clock keeps time like always, accurately, as if it is constantly counting down towards some event.

I have done this so many times that I do not need to refer to my noted plan most of the time. But I still do it. Gegirgen works well only with instinct, that is true, but sometimes in a Healer's universe, instincts lie too. Blood does always have more impact than water, though, gathering in the wrong place they both can cause the same damage.

The apprentices stand just at the edge of the ritual circle, their eager expressions reflecting each other's faces.

I guess this kind of magic does seem quite extraordinary when it is being cast. The ritual circle glowing white, and the visible weaving of spell after spell, graphing the senses and responses of the patient at every moment, shielding, yielding, forming, unravelling, whispering and stationing. Yes, the look on their faces is just right. But what is most impressive…

I slowly lower myself onto the floor feeling acute lethargy in my ankles and back, and stare up at the globe of controlling energies suspended mid-air a few feet above her bed, just to centre my already fatigued senses. I am tiring sooner than usual, but then again, it is not a piece of cake, harnessing an imbalanced core of a sorceress, while half drugged on the Repressing Potion.

The magic Globe (or as Aali refers to as 'blob') looks somewhat like a full moon when it flickers as invisible clouds pass around it. Light Silver gold, an amalgamation of her golden magic wrapped in my silver, translucent and liquid at every alternate second. Yes, this is what would look the most impressive, until it becomes solid, and then it will look extraordinary. It is a reflection of her magic and a synthesizer, cum stabilizer at the same time. Every non-intrusive magic that has to be cast will be cast on this globe, so that everything is balanced when it starts affecting her physically.

And then there is the secret.

In case of my failure. Her magical core will be deteriorated to the level that she would not survive more than seven days out of stasis.

But I won't fail.

Even if for me it is a choice between my swift death and a longer, more painful death.

If all else fails, there is one last option.

I look at my last patient.

And I realize that there is no bitterness in me.

I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to do.

And there could be no better death.

I wonder if this is what the whole lesson has been about.

How often have I prostrated in front of a silent God and asked for salvation?

Countless times.

Is this the answer then?

I think it is. Embracing death. Believing in its finality.

Recognizing the soul, that is the most precious asset of a true Healer.

Choosing the right time and way to die, that is when a warrior is at his most courageous.

It is a moment of enlightenment.

"Ustad?"

I bow my head down feeling the weightlessness of truth in my very bones. Feeling as if I would float away.

"Yes, it is done…" I answer even before he can ask.

It is done, Albus Severus Potter.

It is decided.

Pain it is.

Swift is the way of the coward.

And despite my genetic make-up and being Malfoy, I will not be a coward.

I am Beyazlamak. I will light up and blaze in the likeness of the sun in the end.

For now, I will exhaust all other possibilities. As is the code. I crave for martyrdom, not suicide.

I look up and across the bed at the modernistic marble clock.

Almost midnight.

I have stretched far too much today.

But also accomplished a lot more than I expected.

Diagnosis, decision, solution of a dilemma.

Over-all an extremely productive day.

Full of surprises too, as my mind shamelessly projects the image of a smile shared.

A long, arduous but priceless day.

And it is only the first of the last days of Draco Malfoy.

A warm shawl is placed upon my shoulder, startling me.

"You are shivering," says the deep voice, the heat of it brushing against my ear and I feel the deep ache in my core.

He is so close, and so caring, and not moving away.

The weight of his hand on my shoulder is the only thing I can make any sense of.

I want him to stop. I want him to never stop.

"Draco?"

Why are you calling me that? You never called me that before. I can't even say your name in my imagination for the fear that it will start showing on my skin, in my eyes, stamped black on my white skin, a cruel mosaic of relentless pain. Why are you saying the name I left behind so long ago? Why give me the curtsy of difference now? Malfoy, I was just Malfoy. Spat out of your mouth like a vile potion. Treated like the vile broken distasteful poisonous creature that I was.

'I will never see your ugly ferret-face again! If you know what is good for you, Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world, Malfoy! Do you understand?

Why now? Why here?

"Draco? Are you okay?"

'I ASKED IF YOU UNDERSTOOD, MALFOY?'

"Draco? Albus, give me a hand here."

'Now get lost and remain lost, Malfoy!'

Why find me now? Why so concerned now?

"I am fine!" It comes out with much more force than I inserted or intended

The hands holding my fore-arms loosen their purposeful grip. I am exhausted, not invalided.

The spell breaks now and I feel my body become alert again, struggling, but alert.

As I slowly gather myself and stand up, bent cautiously with hands on my knees just in case there is residual fatigue ready to trample me over.

"Make sure no spells are cast for the next eight hours, she needs to grow into the permeable structure and her magic as it is will make its own way and we have to wait until the Orb is solid and not translucent. If there is a problem, I will get an indication straight away, and it is free-range so I will get it even across seven oceans. Actually…" I turn around towards my audience.

"Auror Potter… You must know a number of generic containment and boundary wards?"

He nods solemnly looking like the spirit of English Christmas in a Dark Maroon jumper.

"Good! I need you to cast a containment boundary charm, the most generic one you know and I can cast a shielding one. That way there will be no mistakes or interference if someone uses any magic in here."

He traces the containment boundary from a distance as he slowly murmurs the incantation while I cast a simple magic repelling shield at the same time. It takes less than two minutes.

When I turn around again, it seems as if half the Weasley household is standing in the doorway to the hall, in various night dresses.

"Umm…"

"We have got the fort for the night Draco, I think you can rest easily."

Yes, Lily Luna Potter is not alone.

And there is nothing for me to do here now.

It is the night before Christmas… it is Christmas.

Time to be with the family.

And the pit inside me is open again.

I am dismissed.

A knot forms in my throat which will not be swallowed and smoothed down.

As I walk towards my exit, I clench down hard on the desire to look back and see 'him' surrounded by family. I will not look back, or my heart of ash that stands still will shatter with the feather touch of the tenderness and comfort not meant for it.

I wonder why does it still hurt? It should not. I should be desensitized by now, but I can hardly breathe, not until I am out of the glowing hall, the familial paradise, and at the stairs, making my way down, feeling the weight of 40 years of a life wasted in longing bearing down on my shoulders, my chest, where the traitor heart still beats furiously, and crowds my head with its hurt and constant beating.

Which is probably why I do not notice the other pair of steps descending with me in perfect synchrony.

It is on the turn at the first platform that I notice him right behind me.

Why? What now? Go back to the warmth of your family, don't give me the taste of something you can never give me; preference.

You don't owe me anything. Don't consider yourself obligated to me.

I want to say all these things, but I don't, for all I know, he might be going somewhere else. His room? Kitchen?

"Should I also ask the house-elves to stay out of the shield containment?" he asks.

Oh, so this is why he followed.

"Yes, I think that would be wise," I say in answer before resuming descending.

"I was wondering, if I could have a word after?"

There is no way to refuse. So I simply nod.

I find myself in front of the writing desk in my designated room.

Fingers tracing the carved edge.

R.A.B

The lost son.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

I hear the slight knock on the door behind me before it is opened without my prompt or permission. As if he knows his claim upon my space deep in his subconscious. He might as well. I am sure by every passing second that his claim on me has something serious to do with why his daughter suffers.

"Did they ever find what happened to him?"

"What happened to whom?" His voice is closer than I would like it to be.

"R.A.B… Regulus Arcturus Black, the other black son…"

"Oh…" There is a long pause. So long it is that I turn around to make sure I have not been dreaming 'his' presence and that he is really there. It won't be the first time I would be fooled by a mirage.

He is there.

The door closed behind him.

His eyes distant and face blank.

And then he inhales as if coming back from the forlorn suffocating memories.

"His story is even more dramatic than his brother's actually," he says, his green eyes focusing on me finally. And I feel my fingers twitch with the desire to reach out to him.

"He was a Death Eater in the first war, and he was a good one. Very clever, as in he got close enough to Voldemort that he fished out a dangerous secret out of Voldemort. By that time, like any sane and clever person he was having second thoughts about Voldemort and what his teachings meant. He was the one who discovered the secret of Horcruxes first and succeeded in acquiring one of them, though he lost his life in the process, but left the Horcrux he had discovered in Kreacher, the house-elf's care and replaced the real Horcrux with a fake one, complete with a note to the Dark Lord basically saying 'up yours' or something to that effect." The smile on his face is tired. He is troubled. I want to reach out and brush all the tiredness away, consume his worries and pain and comfort him with my whole being.

But he is not mine to comfort. He chose someone else for himself. I wonder how she comforts him? If she comforts him at all? If she values him or worships him the way he deserves to be worshipped and valued?

It does not seem that way. Not if the tense bubble of air between them is anything to go by.

Yet he chose her. Vowed his love to her and remains hers.

Not mine.

"One of the few things I remember my grandmother saying to me before she lost her mind was how much I would look like him if it was not for the… hair..." I remember clearly, her shrewd eyes narrowed at me as if seeing something she disliked, though in words she was always all praises.

"I… No, I don't think you resemble him much."

He looks a little nervous for some reason.

I notice the silence in the room, but it is not a peaceful one. I can feel the tether of the potion loosening further and further on me every passing moment.

"I need you to be honest with me, Draco. What are my daughter's chances of survival? I am not a Healer, but I can feel…I do feel that she is slipping away. I am a parent and I think I have a right to know, to be prepared…"

"One hundred percent…" I interrupt his pain as fast and as confidently as I can. This he asks of me. This I will give.

"What?"

"The chances of her survival are one hundred percent."

He gapes at me for a moment, before his eyes narrow.

There is the Potter I am most familiar with.

"And the consequence?"

"The consequence of your daughter's survival Potter? Well, nothing now, but give her a few years and then she'll add an idiot to your family, who will never be good enough for her in your opinion but you will have to endure nonetheless with a smile on your face. Is that not what daughters do?"

His sombre expression breaks a little, like the sun peeking out of the cracked edges of brooding clouds as a reluctant smile tries to sneak around that strange but luscious mouth which I would give my life's blood to touch. But it seems I would still give all my life's blood anyway without the promise of a touch, still, if divine entity was so straight forward in its working, and asked me to name a recompense for all my strife over the past twenty years, this is what I would ask for. To touch that mouth once with my own, the mouth that has been the deliverer of something worse than a death sentence for me, more than once.

What a strange life I have lived.

He nods slightly and smiles hesitantly, convinced and imagining already.

Now is as good a time as any I figure, to ask the questions I intend to ask regarding Lily's birth.

But before I can hardly utter something to that effect, he is swiftly closing the distance between us.

I don't know if I step back in alarm, all I know is that there is the barrier digging in my back making it impossible for me to make my escape from whatever is coming.

And then he is surrounding me, strong arms surrounding my shoulders, trapping me readily as my soul sings a new song. All I can smell and feel is the perfection of this moment. The scent of him sweet on my tongue and his warmth singing into my existence. The voices are all quiet, nothing to say, just drown. I can hear him say something over my shoulder as his warm, fragrant breath brushes across my ear and neck, but I cannot make sense of it. He smells of honey and toffee and butterbeer and perfection. He smells of everything I have dreamed of him smelling like and more.

I don't know how long we stand there, him embracing me and me falling deeper and deeper into the quicksand of instinct and want.

I only snap out of it when his arms loosen around me for some unfathomable reason.

Why would he want to let go now when this feels the way it does?

Why would he want to step away from me? He is mine.

But he wants to step away and I can't deny him what he wants.

"Merry Christmas, Draco," he says and steps away once, twice, and I want to reach out and grab him, but something stays my hand.

And he is reaching towards the door again, away from me and the sharp pain in my chest brings me to my senses again.

Oh my dear God! What just happened?

He embraced me and I… did I lose control?

He turns towards me once again his expression unreadable.

"The children are keeping watch so everything should hold up nicely until morning. So sleep now. You really need it."

He lingers for a few seconds his face turned towards the door. Before he finally sighs deeply and steps out of the door closing it behind him, his back turned towards me.

The wrenching hurt that washes over me is strong enough to bring me to my knees.

It is strange that there is no bleeding when my whole chest feels like it's filled with shards of broken glass.

I scramble for my wand and find it on the edge of the desk. Hastily casting the best silencing charm I can think of. Before letting the inhuman whine of despair escape my throat. Calling back to him, wailing and mourning the loss. I can feel my Veela breaking binds of my control. I need to take the potion now, but I am too weak. I have expended too much magic today. The only thing I can do at this point is fix myself to the floor I have demolished on, become intimate with every grain on the dark wood ancient and polished to an inch of its density until this bout passes over. Until the Veela folds itself back and shrinks away out of pain. It is a taxing process. So I let go a little, let the tears fall as I feel the pain in my chest like a bruise. Tears turn into sobs and hiccups and hiccups turn into a lament and all I can do in my conscious and detached mind is cling to the floor until the darkness finally and mercifully takes me.

---

The first thing I feel as I come back to myself is the ache.

As if there is a hollow gaping hole in the centre of my chest. It is sharper than the aftermath of usual bouts, but milder than how it is after the heat. Second is the stiffness in the rest of my muscles as I try to move them in an attempt to move and detach myself from the floor. Third is the grittiness in my eyes no doubt a result of crying in my sleep. Fourth is the strange lively warmth along my left side and the left side of my back.

I open my eyes with conscious effort into the gloomy twilight filtering in from the window.

I try to get up again but it feels a little too painful so I suffice with turning my neck to look at the strange source of warmth to find two sad and huge eyes staring back at me surrounded by luscious russet coloured fur.

Potter's dog.

But how did it get out of the confinement downstairs and open the door to my room and make it here? And why?

The Veela magic. A part of my slowly starting brain answers.

"Thank you." I whisper to the animal who perks its ears and wags its fluffy tail, looking like the epitome of obedience and innocence.

"And bad dog." I say finally gaining enough momentum in my arms to push myself up from the floor. The mutt hides its face under its paws and looks up at the same time as if to seem guilty and ashamed and hurt at the same time.

I can't help but smile at the mutt. As I make my way to the dresser in search of the potion.

After a warm shower and application of the soothing oil I dress in my warm pyjamas and the woven dressing robe which was a gift from Sarah last Christmas. Still exhausted, but in enough control.

I slowly make my way out of the room followed by the dog.

The situation in the transfigured ballroom reminds me sharply of the night we spent in the Great Hall in Hogwarts in our third year.

The plush portable mattresses are lined up by the far wall. It seems like a strange family tradition of some sort and were I the same wizard I was twenty years ago I would have found the strangeness of the situation distasteful.

I understand much better now.

Understand that despite all the etiquettes, mannerisms and prevention of social faux pas, in the end all you ever need is to be cared for and loved.

I look towards the couches by the fireplace where Mr and Mrs Weasley sit, reading and knitting respectively and across from them Albus and Mini Granger sit nodding off on each other's shoulders, books still opened in their laps. They never noticed my arrival.

There is no sign of Mr and Mrs Potter.

And the imagined reason for their absence feels like a sharp stone in my gut, cutting through my innards, refusing to defy gravity.

I shake myself out of the sludge that my feelings are becoming and move towards the little girl. The Orb suspended upon her is almost solid in its appearance with occasional dips and discolouration in spots, but it is more successful and responsive than I expected it to be at this point. It makes me wonder if I should try the potion I found in Severus' journal which has to do with imbalanced magical cores?

I need to revise the making procedure of course and I am sure that the only ingredient that is a bit obscure to find can be delivered from France via express owl and can be here within twelve hours.

I mean the name of Harry Potter should be able to move some strings along pretty quick.

I am scribbling a list of ingredients for Albus to find when there is some commotion outside the stair hall. It sounds like swift, heavy steps climbing up the stairs followed by some more.

Instincts on high alert, I take a defensive stance just outside the boundary of the containment shield putting myself between the bed of my patient, mattresses containing slumbering Weasleys and the doorway. My position is perfect for keeping an eye on the corridor outside but anyone coming up from the stairs will not be able to see me from their position.

It is hardly seconds later that a youth bolts up the stairs in my periphery and that is exactly where I guide my disarming spell, just three steps into the corridor, the spell hits timed perfectly and with an "oomph!" and a short yelp I can hear the wand clanking its way down the stairs hopefully without its master. In a few swift strides I am out of the hall and into the corridor to find Potter holding the collar of the youth harshly, pressing him into the wall, menace dripping from his face in a way that makes my life force shiver in my veins.

"Harry, let go of him!" comes a sharp rebuke from the first platform where stands Ginny Weasley. Her eyes ablaze, surprisingly at the husband, not the youth.

"Are you so selfish and self-centred that you would risk your sister's life for the sake of your anger and misplaced rage?"

Sister? So this must be the other Potter son. The Quidditch player. He looks like it.

"Are you so stupid and deranged that you would put the life and peace of your only daughter into the hands of Death Eater scum?" the youth spits at his father.

"If it wasn't for a Death Eater scum, you would not even exist, James Sirius Potter! I will not have you in my house bumbling around like a buffoon and endangering the treatment of your sister!"

"Dad? What's the racket? What's wrong?…Oh!.."

I turn around on my feet to see Albus standing behind me, pale but scowling. I turn back towards the stranger situation in front of me again.

The address turns the attention of the other three people towards Albus and essentially me.

There is a plead mixed with apology and anger in Potter's eyes. He should know, words spoken by anyone but him have no power of harming me. They are just words.

The youth, James' eyes flicker and then glow dangerously as he figures out who I actually am. At this point I am sure very few people who actually knew me would recognize me for myself.

For some reason most unimaginative he tries to make towards me in his rage while his father is pressing him against the wall.

In a second Albus jumps in front of me, wand out and in a protective stance to my surprise. Despite his graceful tall stature he hardly seems like the fighting or defending type, but in that moment, I see more of his father in him than at any other time.

This seems to enrage the older sibling still struggling in the clutches of his father even more and before there is any more howling or cursing, I flick my wand and silently "stupefy" him.

It all grows quiet very suddenly after that. As Potter holds his first born son up for a moment and leans his head against the unconscious youth's shoulder, as if in defeat.

Albus quickly steps forward and grabs his slightly bulkier brother around the waist before shooting me an apologetic look and they are descending the stairs.

Leaving me alone with a silently sobbing Mrs Potter who follows her husband with her eyes full of rage.

"Ginny! Ginny, dear? What is the matter?" I am thankful for Mr and Mrs Weasley's prompt arrival The later quickly ushers their desolate daughter and starts to lead her downstairs, as Mr Weasley throws an embarrassed smile my way for some reason.

But said desolate daughter does not fail to shoot a murderous look my way before finally stepping down from my line of sight.

"I am so sorry, Ustad, that you had to see that." I turn around to see mini-Granger standing in the doorway. Eyes looking tired and sad.

I shrug it off as carelessly as I can. Feeling somewhat numb. "Fathers and sons will always have issues."

"But I personally feel that issues between James and uncle Harry are usually tailored by aunt Ginny most of the time!"

The expression on her lost in thought, scowling face suddenly goes slack as she realizes her declaration.

"I am sorry, that was out of line."

"Do not worry, your opinions are safe with me… in fact they might help me in the next step of my treatment, these opinions and observations regarding Mr Potter's family dynamic."

"Oh? How so?"

"I think it would be better if I explained a theory that I have formed, with Albus present."

Curiosity shines in her eyes.

"I can always fill Albus in later…"

I give her my best winning smile before I lead her back into the room where my patient lies, and make way to the abandoned notebook where I have made a list of ingredients I would need for brewing Severus' potion. It seems that most Weasleys have slumbered right through the commotion.

She goes through the list and details twice before she asks me the obvious question.

"I do not know if Herlinatilly Extract will be available anywhere here."

"I know of an apothecary in Rouéville, Étienne, he sells it under the desk and to very selected clients for an exorbitant fee, if Potter sends a letter to this apothecary, I am sure he will make a special exception, even during Christmas Holidays."

"But…"

"I know what you are thinking, though it is allegedly used for…recreational purposes, it is so rare that it is not really illegal. Not here in Britain at least."

"And you think this potion could help? It does not look very complicated in its procedure, but I have never seen such ingredients in one potion!"

"I trust it, I have tried it before and it did work, even though the case was much milder. But the fact that Severus Snape invented this potion was enough for me to believe in its effectiveness before I even proved that it works."

She nods solemnly, suddenly looking much more respectfully at the list in her hand. Her blue eyes running through it again as if trying to memorize it.

"I keep forgetting that you are Professor Snape's god-son and one of his most impressive apprentices according to his own teaching journals."

I snort at the statement.

"And yet I know it was a common opinion that it was only favouritism because I was his god-son and a Slytherin and had nothing to do with my talent."

She snorts at the statement in a most uncharacteristic way, resembling her father for the first time.

"I don't think anyone who has ever been in the Potion's classrooms at Hogwarts will agree with the opinion that Severus Snape would never be kind in words or have favourites in any case other than exceptional talent, which we all think is impossible and in case we didn't, he hangs on the wall to tell us so at every available opportunity. Be it Slytherins, 'who are a disgrace to the name of Salazar and Hogwarts' and should replace the cleaning house-elfs. Ravenclaws ' who should have their brains clawed out and filled with Hippogriff dung for all they are worth'.Hufflepuffs 'who should have their hands transfigured into towel papers rolls for how much they cry and spill precious potion ingredients. Gyffindors? I can't even start to tell all the things that should be done to Gryffindors…"

I realize that I am staring at her while I imagine the insults pouring down in his deep baritone that was able to do more damage on one's nerves than a banshee's screams.

"And we thought that it was finally over when we graduated from Hogwarts, only to find him situated menacingly in the Potions lab at St Mungo's and we finally found out that there are actually seven portraits of Professor Snape, including the one in the Headmaster's office and one in uncle Harry's office. But that is not as bad as you would think because there is also a portrait of Professor Dumbledore in uncle Harry's office so that kind of keeps them busy. Then there is the one in the Order's headquarters and one in the Dumbledore Memorial hall at the ministry, which of course is used without fail for holding the Auror trainee's final exams. There is also one in uncle Harry's study at Godric's Hollow, but I think he intends to bring it here now that he lives here, but there is one more…"

It was at the Spinner's end and now hangs in the sitting room of my living quarters at the manor.

I had to leave it behind because I was supposed to be lost, impossible to be found and though I always knew that Severus would keep my secret as he had all these long years, I did not want him or even his memory to witness my excruciating pain.

"You should ask Albus to tell his father to send a prepaid express owl to Rouéville as soon as he can and we can start making this potion in no more than fifteen hours, because the potion itself takes twelve hours to make in fairly equipped, deep-seated laboratory."

"Albus is in the basement, and it is decently equipped since he has always been interested in diagnostics."

"I shall have a look as soon as…" I remember the commotion going downstairs.

"As soon as? " says Albus somewhere behind me.

"Ah! Has it been brushed under the rug yet?" Asks Mini-Granger her eyes fixed in a warning mixed with resignation on her best-friend and cousin.

"Grandma is talking to him now as you know mum is going to be…" he stops mid-sentence, not wanting to complete it in my presence I figure.

I know it will be awkward and embarrassing but I think it is time to ask the assistance of these two in the questioning I need to do regarding conception and birth of Lily Luna.

"This might seem a little intrusive of me on a personal level but it is a professional requirement. I need to ask your parents some really detailed questions regarding the circumstances of Lily's… birth and… more importantly her conception."

My audience flushes all at once as both of them understand exactly what I am talking about. But then Mini-Granger straightens herself through her still prominent flush.

"Of course, Ustad, I mean it would only be logical if you do so, seeing as this is the problem with her core so it might have been there since birth… I think I will ask uncle Harry and aunt Ginny to sit down with you as soon as possible to get it over with…"

She hands over the list still in her hand to Junior-Potter, conveniently bringing an end to their embarrassment.

"I would like to inspect your Potion's lab after breakfast today, so that if any equipment that I might need in brewing this potion is missing, we could get it by the time all the ingredients are gathered."

"I see, but… I am… Herlinatilly Extract?"

"Granger here will explain to you. The owling address is written right under the list…"

As I decide to retire for a few more hours feeling the aftermath still grating on my nerves, I see a small amused smile playing on both their lips.

I simply raise an eyebrow in query as it clearly looks like I am the source of their amusement.

"You called me Granger… I am actually Weasley."

Her face is rather beautiful when she smiles like that. Softer, easier and much more natural than amusement ever was on her mother's face in that age. No, Granger had just fought a battle against the darkest wizard known to mankind on the frontlines. Granger's smile was never that easy and natural the very few times I had been able to witness it.

"You are Granger to me as long as I am here, easier for me if I don't have to cringe every time I have to compliment you on your brilliance, which I will never be easy or generous with if I had to call you Weasley."

She flushes even more, trying to look offended though she is extremely flattered. I simply smile at her.

"I must retire and catch a few hours of shut-eye…"

I wonder for a second if I should ask junior Potter about the mutt who is now languishing in front of the fire place.

"Make sure your family issues remain on the ground floor for the duration of the morning. He won't be able to do much, but I do not take kindly to people who are stupid enough to try to interrupt my work."

Albus agrees stiffly. I am glad that he does not take offence and understands the importance of the situation.

"That will be no problem, Ustad. You can count on me."

No, Albus Potter, I can only count on me.

And perhaps the dog.

If the dog follows me, then I will not deny myself the comfort of its unconditional warmth and undemanding praise.

If I don't deserve that after the brutal embrace, I don't what I will do.

The dog does not follow.

In the end, it is only the cold bed and me.

Stupid dog.

Stupid Draco.

Imagining and still wanting comfort from a Potter.

Stupid Stupid Draco.

Chapter Text

 

 

---

 

Chapter 9 : In his wrath there are a hundred kindnesess, in his meanness a hundred generosities;

 

 

It is perhaps the most painful thing to witness, your family breaking apart. But that is what is happening to us.

It has never been more apparent to me as it is in these moments as I stand here and witness first hand my first-born’s rage and prejudice first hand.

I witness it, but I stopped listening to it a while back.

All I can see is the rage and imagined betrayal breaking on his face.

It morphs his handsome face into a cruel mask.

And I realize that it is too late. I have failed somewhere with him on such a fundamental level that the damage is irreparable now.

 

The devastation of this realization suddenly puts everything into a different perspective.

Axioms are broken.

No, there were never any axioms. None that applied to us anyway.

And this is the end.

This is the end of my patience and my guilt.

I feel the power of decision surge through me.

All my life I struggled and fought with myself always thinking that I needed to place myself last, crush my instinct to demand love. That I was the one who had to be worthy of love. That it was not my birth-right to be loved, that I had to earn it.

I have spent all my life pretending that my will does not exist, and that the life of my loved ones hung in balance against every deed of mine. I realize, that it does, hang in balance. But that balance and that suspension is dependent on my will. My decision. Not my actions.

I have a will and a path and power enough to set down the rule, if only I would take it.

In all my life and in all the things I have been through, I have never felt such complete confidence in myself as I do in this moment. It is as if something that had been weighing me down has finally let go. And as horrifying as it may seem. It is this so-called family.

Ron was absolutely right.

It all ends now. This is it. This has to happen now. Ginny is already lost, there is no way of saving that relationship and I realize that I have no will to save it, I haven’t for a long time. But my son is still salvageable.

 

“You have to let go of this anger my darling boy, there is no place for it here and now…” I hear Molly Weasley speaking slowly trying to reason with James, as she always does. I can see that it is not working. His flared nostrils and venomous lips are quivering. I know he is about to say something extremely hurtful. I can see that it is his own internalized guilt that pushes him to be this cruel person. It is a mask that needs to come off in solitude, and when it does, I know my son will return to me.  Tonight I have to save two of my children.

 

“Molly?”

One word from me pauses her mid-sentence as she turns to look at where I stand in the corner.

Her expression changes slightly as she catches my stance in the shadow and turns to look at her husband who purses his lip and nods at me slightly.

I realize that they themselves have been waiting for me to do what I am about to do.

“I will say this once, and only once…” I say stepping forward. I need centre stage to say what I need to say. There is no turning back after this. Even if it kills me.

“Lily is my daughter, and while she is in my house she will be treated by whom I choose for her to be treated by. If anyone in this house disagrees with my decision, they are welcome to leave. But remember this when they leave, they will never be let back in. I have tried my best to hold it all together for  everyone’s pleasure as long as I can remember. I have done my due, I have actually done a lot more than my due! No more. If anyone, and I mean anyone…” I shoot a pointed look at stunned Ginny,

“Tries or even thinks about interfering with Lily’s treatment upstairs, or give Malfoy even a sideways look, be assured that you will never find your way back into this home and you can have my word as a wizard on that.”

The pin-drop silence that follows my statement is reassuring. I turn to my son.

“And you ungrateful little piece of shit. You have not done nearly enough for this family to have any rights to feeling or showing anger! If I hear one more word from your mouth that holds even a trace of your vile, prejudiced, sick mind, I will disown you publicly and make sure that you never step a foot on a Quidditch field for the rest of your days. And you can have my word as a wizard on that too!”

His eyes grown comically large in his face. And it gives me a deep satisfaction. Perhaps this was what was needed all along.

Strike while the iron is hot wise people always say. If this is what it takes to save the life of my daughter, this is what I will do. There is no limit that I would not cross for the sake of my child. So I continue. Drive the point home.

 “I have given you everything that a father can possibly give his son and I do not know what I did so wrong that you have turned out this way that I am ashamed to call you my son.”

And the crescendo. With a strange strength coming from someplace unknown deep inside me, I find myself saying the words I never thought I would utter in my life. But I know now that I will have to be indisputably the strong head of the house. Who can give the harshest punishment if pushed far enough.

“Now I want you out of my house, until the time comes that your sister wakes and asks for you. And if she doesn’t ever wake, I am sure that it will be all over the newspapers around the world just as your mother likes it since she is so ready for her daughter to die, and you can find your way to her funeral rites, if your precious Quidditch allows you the time… Now leave.”

He is looking at me as if I have grown a second head.

I know what I am saying is extremely cruel and not true by any means. But they both need this verbal shock therapy, I need this verbal shock therapy to set their heads straight. To go from the offensive to the defence. To enable them a chance to step back and analyse their actions.

“You can’t possibly…” I hear Ginny start to protest and I turn towards her so fast that she actually startles and takes a step back. I don’t know what she sees in my face but she rapidly swallows whatever is stuck in her throat.

“Not a bloody word from you. This is between me and my son. If you don’t agree with my decision, you are welcome to leave as well. You know where the door is.”

I turn back towards my son again and gesture with my head for him to get going.

And though his graceless scrambling from his chair, and upset and almost scared expression wrench at my heart. It is necessary that this should be done. James should at least get an idea of what life is without privileges. And how easy it is to let go of prejudices when your life and those you love are on the line.

Once the departing green flames of the floo are settled again. I turn back towards my audience.

“Wobby!” I call for the house-elf, who pops into existence before the whole word is out of my mouth.

“Master Harry!”

“Wobby, I have a chore for you. Please go to my bedroom and remove all of Ginny’s belonging to Augusta’s bedroom on the second floor would you?”

“Yes, Master.” The elf squeaks and pops out again.

I turn towards my in-laws and my wife, but only address my wife.

“Don’t look so surprised Ginny. You see, all the facades are falling now. We don’t have to pretend in front of your parents that we are happily married. I think they do know that you kicked me out of my own house about a year ago. You always wanted my reaction. This is my reaction to all of it. I think both of us deserve a good life for suffering each other for so long.”

I want her to simmer over it all, so I make to move from the kitchen towards my study. When I remember the one thing that I have not said to her, but might be the perfect conclusion to the whole scene.

“ Oh…” I turn again towards her.

“You always accused me of being harsh with James, and picking favourites between my own children. That! What just happened now was harsh Ginny. And you will stand here and witness the change in him the next time he steps into this house. If you had not picked favourites between your children all your life, I would not have to be so harsh now. But since you always have been a failure at everything, here we stand.”

“I am a failure?” she almost shouts at me in bewilderment.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? When your life-partner tells you that you are a failure it hurts just like that. That is how I have been feeling. I thought that the worst I could feel about myself was over when I lost touch with the Dursleys, but it was never over Ginny. Not when you kept saying it to me day in and day out. I never knew what it meant to have a family… I never had one….that is my excuse for my so called failures! What is your excuse? You had the greatest, most gracious parents in the world! And this is what you have turned out to be? Think about it, Ginny. Think long and hard about it. Because if my daughter dies, and my son does not return to me, I would know where to place the blame. I would know who to punish.”

 

 

---

 

I don’t realize my tears straight away. But once I lock myself in my study, I feel the wetness on my cheeks. I wipe them away. Now is not the time.

I feel as if my heart would burst from grief. I should not be able to live and breathe with this pain.

My actions though necessary, do nothing to ease the pain performing them has brought me.

I don’t know how long I sit there at the edge of my desk looking at myself in the mirror that Albus had put up in my office to make it look more spacious.

It is strange that faces don’t come with labels.

What would mine say?

‘Broken’, ‘damaged’, ‘cruel’, ‘Failure’

There is a knock on my door.

I don’t want to see anyone. So I don’t answer, I don’t move.

But my tenacious visitor is not so easily dissuaded. Especially if that tenacious visitor has a sixth sense attached to my mood.

The door knob jiggles a bit and then I hear a small rasp of “Alohamora”

The lock gives way and the door opens cautiously.

The light filtering in from the corridor fixture illuminates me, yet hides the real source of light in my life in a deep shadow. I wonder what he sees. Does he know how unfair and cruel I have just been to James? Would he understand?

He enters and closes the door behind him quietly. And stands by it, quiet and seemingly calm. I have not enough strength to actually look up at his face. I am too afraid to see disappointment in it.

“Dad?” the voice that reaches my ears is so full of the little boy I have always known and I can’t help but spread my arms for him, just like I always did for my sons. Only now I am afraid I will never feel the two of them together in my arms again. It breaks my heart further to think that James may never return to me. No matter how confident I was in there with Ginny, my heart is full of ‘what ifs’.

He is in my arms in under a split second. Strong, tall and sturdy. When did he grow up so much? When did he grow enough to switch positions in this hug? When did he become a source of comfort for me in place of me being his? How life changes, time changes. And as strong as loss is, the gain is far bigger. If Albus is here now. James will be here too and soon. I can feel the despair washing away as I hold on to my last anchor. My last tether.

I don’t know how long we stay that way. All I know that I have rarely felt such comfort in my life without feeling impropriety. This is my son who is holding me. I am a part of his genetic make up. He belongs to me. He is mine. I am not borrowing anything from anyone. This is all mine. I can deserve this love without trespassing on anyone else’s territory. He might have a whole different life altogether. But he will only have one father. No sharing in that.

“I am sorry Dad…”

He sighs into my hair. So much regret in such a young voice.

It forces me to let go and look into his face.

“I am so sorry James is so out of control. If only I had gotten along with him better this might not have needed to happen. If only I talked to mom more…”

“Albus… stop!”

He bites his lip and looks away, green jewel-like eyes filling with tears.

“Look at me…” I turn his chin towards me.

“You are giving yourself far too much importance…” I say teasingly trying to smile at him reassuringly, pinching him on the chin as I always used to do. He smiles back half-heartedly but the tears finally escape as he takes a deep breath which turns into a sob that he tries to inhale.

I can’t bear it, so I stand up and take him in my arms again.

“This is not your fault. This was never your fault. You are my pride and joy and you have worked so hard and more than your due to keep us all together.”

 “It’s all breaking apart isn’t it, Dad? You are going to… You are going to divorce mom aren’t you?”

Am I? Am I going to divorce Ginny. I hadn’t thought of it that far.

“I don’t know why I’m even crying, I have known it would happen for over a year… And I only knew because Lily pointed it out.”

I can’t believe that our deteriorating relationship has been so blatantly apparent. True our relationship was never as easy or as happy as say Ron and Hermione’s but I always thought we were able to hold together a front. For the children at least.

“It is too early to say. Or maybe too late…” it is a strange reality to face.

“I just don’t have the answers right now… I wish I did, but I don’t.”

“You know what I wish dad?”

I look at his sincere visage and it reminds me of Dumbledore for some reason.

“I wish for you to be happy. Just completely, truly, happy... that is what you said to me in the fifth year when I told you about Leo. Do you remember?”

How can I forget? It was one of the most important conversations of my life. When he finally told me about who he thought was his one true love. And who has actually turned out to be just that. Leo is perhaps the reason Albus is so grounded in this whole scenario. Leopold Aloysius Prince. I got to know him because of his extremely violent and infamous rivalry with James.

But I have also never seen a boy so desperately in love as Leo is with Albus. You just have to have eyes to look. And the one time I did look closely in Leo’s eyes, in one of those unsuspecting moments, I only saw Albus, expanded to the size of a whole universe.

It was unsettling, unnerving and extraordinary all at the same time. 

People on surface will never understand how Leo and Albus can be together at all. But I do understand it. And tonight, the night of miracles and misery, it reveals to me even further.

When I met Leo for the first time in one of my guest lectures at Hogwarts, he reminded me so strongly of Draco Malfoy that I was a bit jarred for a few moments. Despite the clear contrast in looks; the body language, the attitude, the sneers he had for James were uncannily Draco Malfoy, and for some reason, they were not a source of irritation at all. They endeared me to Leo for some reason. Perhaps it was encouraged by a floating piece of nostalgia, or perhaps I finally understood Draco’s misfortune in the whole war. But now that I think about it, how hard it must have been for Draco to make a turnabout in his life as he has. I now see the potential of radical and extraordinary change Draco always had, which is something I see in Leo too, which serves him in his relationship with Albus.

Perhaps it was the same thing with Snape too. That radical contrasting devotion simmering just underneath the surface. Snape’s devotion towards my mother, Leo’s for Albus and Draco’s?

I don’t know what burns at Draco’s core.

But I am starting to think that it was just the idea of right and wrong. The uprising against cruelty.

I don’t know if I will ever find out what burns at Draco’s core. Only that I envy him and his purposeful life.

And I envy those who inspire such radically devoted love.

And perhaps once I am free of this farce of a relationship, I can look for some bigger and radical purpose in life.

The options are unlimited.

“That is all I want for you dad. Once Lily is well and back at Hogwarts, I want you to take time out, do something crazy like go on a trip with Aunt Luna and family to look for a Bilgesnipe in Norway. Anything that makes you happy, Dad. I can’t bear to see you miserable for our sakes when we are not even there.”

During these hard months, Leo has been the one travelling, going as far as South-America for the sake of Lily’s cure, while Albus managed home-ground. I had heard that he would return for Christmas, but since there is not a tall, toffee-blond Slytherin in my house,

“Okay, I will think about it after I research what a Bilgesnipe is actually. But tell me, where is your Bilgesnipe? I though he was going to show up for Christmas.”

The smile that graces Albus’ lips is brilliant but at the same time a bit sad. I am sure Albus has been very busy, but not busy enough to not miss Leo.

“He is back tonight, I just got a call from him a few hours ago, but he won’t be able to make it here till after lunch, you know how his mom is.”

“So that means he will be here after breakfast, if I know him any.” I tease. Knowing Leo’s propensity to always come before the time he has settled with Albus.

“No, I already did the reduction because I do know him best, Dad. He said he won’t be able to sneak out before Dinner, which means he will be here just after lunch. And he’ll bunk with me, but it’s not like we are going to get to sleep though…”

“Ehm..Ehm.. I did not need to know that Albus.” I tease some more.

“No, I meant that we will probably be in charge of the Lab, because Ustad will be brewing or administrating the Potion for Lily…Psh... you know what, I don’t even have to explain to you. I am well-over age dad.”

“You will never be not answerable to me when you are in my house, haven’t you heard? But, what is this potion you are talking about? Draco did not tell me about any potion.”

His smile is all excitement and hope. And this is all that you need in the end.

 

The Herlinatilly extract arrives just as Leo does, both during lunch.

A certain look at a being awkwardly side-hugged Albus is all I allow myself.

Ginny is strangely serene and does not say a word. Though she keeps looking at me sideways which is even more uncharacteristic of her.

Molly and Arthur seem their normal cheery-self. Especially to see Leo, because just as they can’t have enough grand-children they can also never have too much of Grand-children in-law-to-be.

 “Uh… we better deliver this downstairs straight away.” Albus says holding the precious package in one all wide-eyed while his other is holding Leo’s tight enough to turn their knuckles white.

Before Molly can say anything to the effect of them being to skinny to skip through half of lunch, I intervene.

“Sure, go ahead. I am sure Leo would love to see Rose all flustered and awed as she is with our house-guest.”

Leopold raises a sardonic brow in such a way that he gives me a flash of my old potions professor who he is distantly related to.

As if Draco himself was not enough to do that.

His body language and stoic expression matches Snape so much that it is unnerving. Of course where Snape was always sneering and venomous, Draco is just resigned and tired for some reason.

Though, Snape was never in his life as beautiful as Draco has turned out to be.

Just as graceful, but never as breath-taking as Draco.

And I am not ashamed to admit it. Not to myself at least.

Draco is strangely elusive since morning and Rose and Arthur are probably being helpful minions, while Victoire, Louis and Teddy sit upstairs with Lily, playing Wizard’s Uno someone has acquired from someone as a Christmas present.

It is a rather confusing scenario, this elusiveness especially when I had been told by a not very comfortable Rose that Draco needed to ask me some important questions.

I wonder what those important questions are as I retreat from the lunch table to my study.

“Harry?” there is a knock on my study door, which snaps me out of a half-doze and reverie that I was in.

“Yeah, come in.” I say feeling the inexplicable tiredness in my bones. After all the upheaval last night, I had taken responsibility of sitting with Lily in the early morning hours while Rose and Albus both rested. Corresponding with the apothecary in Rouéville, and I had hardly slept for two hours afterwards after breakfast, with all the coming and going in the house. 

I have been awake for longer than 72 hours in one go before, but it is harder in the circumstances. 

The door opens to reveal Ron and Hermione.

I am not sure how I feel about what is coming next. There is no way they don’t know what happened last night and that is why they have come to talk to me now.

I only know one thing that nothing would change.

My circumstances and my inevitable break-down has made the decision for me and though for this once I would have liked to have made it willingly rather than forcefully. I know it is the right one, and if that is not characteristic of the lore ‘Harry Potter’, I do not know what is.

“Since there was no proper gift opening this morning, we thought we would bring you your present ourselves. Merry Christmas Harry…” Ron says, holding out a longish wrapped package towards me.

I smile and open it with as much enthusiasm as I can conjure out of thin non-existent air.

It is a sleek, fully concealable wand-holder. And it is frankly magnificent. Hand stitched leather with a personalized anti-disarming enchantment.

I turn the dark leather clasps to enclose, only to see the flaps come together to make my initial in embroidery.

It is a brilliant gift. Well though-out and executed.

“There is another present in that box.” Hermione says smiling her easy smile. A smile that knows me inside and out. More than Ginny ever did.

I move the cloth and butter paper in the box to reveal a small palm sized book.

‘Celtic History of Wandlore’

I open the book to read a first few pages that look old, but are written in a very simple language.

Hermione knows of my interest in Wandlore, and it is a perfect gift.

“It has some really good information on very little known subject regarding wands. Things that should be common knowledge in my opinion, but isn’t.” she explains leaning over my desk.

“I have even marked some pages that may be of interest, especially the part about Veela and their wand magic is truly fascinating.”

“That does sound interesting!” I say looking down at the unsuspicious looking book and it is not a lie at all, I never even knew Veela’s wand magic was something of notice or different than normal magic.

I haven’t even thanked them. What kind of an Englishman am I?

I stand and embrace both my childhood friends and thank them to my English heart’s content.

I then I bring out the gifts that I have been storing for them in my office and hand them over.

Ron looks extremely pleased with the written commentary of all memorable Quidditch matches starting from 18^th century that is his gift. It is a book, and it is about Quidditch, so Hermione can hardly complain.

For Hermione I simply bring out a piece of paper from my drawer and hand it over.

“You already gave me my gift with the donation this year Harry!” she says taking hold of the paper that I know will eclipse everything else that is on her mind, for a while.

It is the new Regulation press-release regarding the admittance of two-wizards to be on call in all the rescue stations in a certain zone of Muggle central-London.

It is something she has been working at for more than Five years now. And to see her eyes fill with astonishment at the two stamps that adorn the bottom of the paper is all the present one can ask for.

“Dear God! Harry?”

 “Now, now, God is a bit much, Hermione, I am just a normal wizard you know.” I grin at her.

Her hug is fierce, while Ron looks a bit sympathetic behind her back for my probably fractured bones.

“Think of how many lives it could save, Harry! It is a Christmas miracle delivered by the bureaucracy. Who could have imagined?” she says smiling and tearing up and hyperventilating all together in the way only she can.

“You imagined it… who else Hermione? You imagined it, worked at it. It’s true that Ron and I had to lay the ground work, but, it is ultimately all because of you.”

She turns towards her smiling and reddening husband.

“Oh remember me suddenly? The poor bloke who had to go to every Met in London for bloody inspections?”

And then they are hugging and kissing and laughing together. And it aches and climbs up my windpipe like the devil’s snare. And before I can turn away I am being pulled in by Hermione, and it is just like we always were. Embracing each other through extreme happiness, sadness, excitement, devastation. This embrace is the legacy of our friendship something that we have passed on to our children through our genes.

 I can’t hold myself together any longer. My heart is still broken. And their warmth is comforting so I cling to them. I remember how Lily had clung to me yesterday, I know why. Even if she does not know what is happening to her or what we are doing for her, she is suffering it. Her little body is so fragile, yet so strong and enduring through so much.

I don’t know how long we stand there, but then someone moves and lets go, and we all move towards the couch in the corner by the small fireplace not breaking touch in some form or shape.

A few minutes pass in silence, a heavy silence, but then I somehow find my courage to address the proverbial elephant in the room.

“So you heard what happened with James and Ginny last night?”

“Yea mate. We heard.” Ron’s hand on my back adds a comforting pressure before it eases again.

“And?” I ask unable to look at them both.

“And we want you to know that we will stand-by you, whatever decisions you make.”

Now, I did expect this support from Ron, but from Hermione, it is a surprise.

“Really?” I turn to look at her. She smiles reassuringly

“Really, Harry. You have been miserable for years, so has Ginny. It was wrong of me to say that you should stay together and be miserable because of your children. Now that I see what James has taken out of the whole mess, I can hardly advocate in favour of your relationship for the sake of the children.”

“I still can’t believe I kicked him out of the house.”

“It is a difficult time mate and he needs to be taken down a peg or ten you know. Ginny’s got him so high up there, I always said this to Hermione and Ginny too a few times, but she herself is too up there in her head. And the whole thing with Lily and her treatment… let us just say that I am glad to see you take all the control in the situation… you were always good at it, reluctant, but good.”

And like that, it is all good. I can’t believe that I am not getting any backlash. It is as if the whole universe was waiting for me to make this decision. You would think that keeping the family together, and staying married would be an option that everyone would flock to, but it’s not. It seems that everyone has been more aware of my misery than I myself have been.

And it is a relief beyond relief.

 

Without knowing that I am allowed or not, I dare to venture into my former basement that has been Albus’ potion lab for past 3-4 years. Since he lives here much more than at Godric’s hollow and since Leo lives here more than he does at his own home in Aberystwyth, it was only wise to have a potion’s lab in both places.

The warm cup of hot chocolate and the package that was just delivered by a harassed looking owl is my excuse. Though, I am sure he will see through it or maybe not. Package is a good cover.

I had asked Wobby earlier if the master potioneer had had anything to eat at all during the whole day and the sad and guilty face Wobby made was enough for me to take a guess.

I wonder what a third party might think of my concern for Draco Malfoy, my former sworn enemy. I feel it deep inside me that he needs it. He is pushing himself to some kind of limit and though I do not know what it is, I can feel it. There is something so fragile and fluctuating around him. And all that he has  done so far for me and my family and is still doing makes me feel obligated, and more than that, it makes me instinctually concerned for him.

This might be the norm for him. How he usually works, but if it is only this much that I can give back at this point. Then I will.

People might say things and people might talk. But I have embraced Draco Malfoy, held him close enough to know how stretched thin he is. I would love to know the reason. But it is his secret to keep and though I might feel concerned and friendly towards him for obvious reasons, he does not have to return it, he does not return it in fact. He rebuffs or at least tries to rebuff it. I can still clearly remember feeling the stiffness and alarm in his form, when I had hugged him yesterday, and though it hurt somewhat at the time. I am starting to understand the strange relationship we might be forming now, and I am going to be extra careful to not take liberties that he might be uncomfortable with.

He may find it unnecessary. But I am going to put my hand forward for friendship. He would always be welcome in my home after this, and perhaps when time and place allows, we will be able to walk through all the problem we once had and resolve some of the issues.

Because, before he sauntered back into my life again, I did not realize how much I actually had missed him over the years. It feels as if I have been thinking about him constantly for the past twenty years without even noticing.

The sliding door opens by itself as I reach the last step to allow me entrance into the lab.

It is lit dimly enough to remind me of the dungeons at Hogwarts, but the ceiling and the clean marble green walls make it look more clinical and functional. I wonder how long it’s been since I have been down there. We all learned early in no candid words that Albus’ lab was off limits to all.

‘It is important to the integrity of a potion composition that the Potion Master shall be given enough privacy to be undisturbed from the careless comings and goings of others.’

No, despite being Slytherin, he was not very subtle about it. But then again those days were the days of frustration for him. He was young, vulnerable and harbouring feelings for his elder brother’s arch-nemesis, an older brother with whom his relationship was already on a decline because of the differences in temperaments.

“Seven times anti-clockwise ,Potter, every twenty minutes, and stop the ladle on the seventh round exactly on the spot you started in the first…” I hear from the far corner of the lab, from where a light yellow colour smoke is rising in delicate puffs. I hear my son murmur something I can’t catch.

“Yes, Potter, common sense would suggest that you start from the marked part of the Cauldron, and make sure the ladle does not scratch on the bottom, it’s brewing in copper and copper is very soft.”

I stand frozen in my spot. It sounds uncannily like a lecture from Snape.

I am still standing on the spot when he comes out from behind the glass addled counter and stops mid-stride when he catches sight of me.

And it is like looking at a marble monument when you yourself exist in Stone Age. The long sleeves of his light-grey-blue oxford are folded neatly up to his elbows showing off slender but sturdy wrists. His waist coat is half covered in a green Slytherin monogrammed Potion making apron, but it is the first two open buttons of his shirt that catch my attention because for a moment it seems as if the sliver of skin peeking through the small V is glittering, as if it is reflecting the shine of the few tendrils of his hair that have escaped their binds. And why wouldn’t they? It is a crime to leave such beautiful and long hair tied.

“Do you want something?” he looks like a menacing angel in that moment. All that is missing is the razor sharp wings on his back. His voice is harsh, brow furrowed, as if I have offended him by just being born.

I probably have.

Silver eyes are glittering with irritation.

Well, there goes my chance at all the chances I was going to take.

I slowly lower the cup of Hot-chocolate in one of my hands on to the free work station on the side.

But he is still looking at me expectantly and also irritated, so sanity suggests that I must retreat and quickly.

“Umm… Wobby told me that you haven’t had anything to eat all day, so I just thought I would bring you a cuppa. I did not mean to disturb. Also this package arrived for you just now, it was late so I thought it might be important,” I place the wrapped package on the workstation too.

“Please tell Rose and Albus that I will be in my study for the night, if they need anything.”

I want to say more, at least ask him about the questions that he wanted to ask me, but, he’s made it clear enough that I need not hound him for it. So I quickly retreat.

And by the time the door slides shut behind me, my heart is pounding in my chest for no apparent reason.

A lot of things I was about to say run through my mind as I climb up the stairs.

‘Wow, you truly are a disciple of Severus Snape.’

‘Go easy on my kid there, he is a Potter and any mistakes he makes are mine.’

‘Wow you have beautiful hair, can I touch it?’

What?

I don’t want to touch his hair.

Besides, it is good that I did not get to say anything. Don’t even think about hair touching.

Conversations with him are such a minefield. One wrong step. One careless joke and who knows how much offence he takes. I remember how he freaked out when I tried to take his pulse accusing me of looking for his Mark.

The war might have been two decades ago. But it was monumental enough to not be forgotten so easy.

How can I expect Draco Malfoy to forget, when I myself haven’t forgotten it?

This attempt that I am thinking of making towards Draco, the offer of friendship and trust, in this moment it feels as if it is a lost cause.

But then again, when have I not made lost causes my own? My own life is a lost cause and I haven’t let go of that yet, have I?

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: The spirited parrots of heaven will envy us - When we shall laugh in such a way, you and I.

(December 25th 2020 - 10:00 pm)

I feel awkward and strange standing in front of the closed ebony door behind which is said to be the Study/office of the famous Harry Potter.

The encounter from a few moments ago still buzzing behind my eyeballs.

The generous and comfortingly warm mug of hot chocolate in hand, with its floating marshmallows and magic sprinkles, and the thin portfolio tucked under my arm. The portfolio which carries perhaps the most excruciating (for me) questionnaire.

I take a deep breath before extending my hand to knock at the door.

And at that moment it opens just as my hand was about to touch it.

I cannot help but feel annoyed and unsettled because of my failure to knock.

I would have liked to knock and prepare myself for the answer and then hear the answer and then enter the room on my own terms. In control of the situation from the very beginning.

But when have I ever had control of the situation when it comes to him.

At this point, it is even foolish to hope for it.

"I can always close it again and then you can knock and come in by yourself if it annoys you so much." He says, a wry smile playing on his lips.

His strange lips which seem a deep pink in the dull light of the corridor and the shadow of his dark scruff, thin and full at the same time.

I stop myself just in time.

And also realize just in time,

That it was not the Veela taking note of this.

It was me, my conscious mind.

My heart clenches at the meaning of this.

Not that I ever had any excuses. But this is just another weight in the balance of my doom.

I attempt at sneering, and somehow succeed though the reaction is quite opposite of what I would have expected.

He smiles widely at me in that strange Dumbledore-like way and steps aside with a flourish as if to welcome me into his world.

I do not fail to see the irony. I never fail to see the irony.

The space has a strange character, there is no other way of putting it.

The golden glow of the lamps is particularly dim in the corners, focusing more on the centre of the room where a large desk stands in all its black gaudy glory.

It is a restored piece of course like most things in this house and of the somewhat same make as the RAB study desk that stands in my temporary abode.

It is crowded with papers and what seems like Auror reports but it all still seems a bit more arranged than I would have expected his desk to be if his hair is anything to go by.

The left hand side wall is filled with frames which would probably take a while to look at such is the number of them. From where I stand, I can see that not all are pictures but also some newspaper cut outs, and some hand-drawn things.

The deep dove-grey of the walls and the dark wood panelling make it a proper serious study with a brooding personality.

And it smells thoroughly lived in.

Of this whole house, it seems this is where he spends most of his time as every particle in its air resonates his scent. The curtains, the walls, the wood, the glass. I can feel the over-whelming reflection of him in everything.

"Now, you are making me self-conscious about my favourite room in the house." He says from somewhere behind me.

As unexpected as his recognition of my scrutiny is, it is yet more un-intentional when I end up asking,

"Did you restore this room yourself?"

His surprise shows on his face for a split second, before another expression crosses his face which I cannot decipher quickly enough.

"Err… Yes, actually, how did you know?" he asks, his eyes glimmering with slight apprehension and curiosity.

'Because I feel it in every pore of my existence. Because this is your territory if there was ever any.'

But in answer to his question, I simply shrug.

He smiles and points me politely to one of mismatched easy chair by the desk.

It makes me feel outrage and guilt at the same time, this benevolent attitude of his. I wonder what he is playing at, or why he is playing at it. Does he think that I would not do my best if he did not play unnecessarily nice with me? Or is he compensating for what happened and what I might have heard the night past and the impromptu encounter with his oldest off-spring.

"The potion needs to be optimized for the next seven hours so I thought I would get some of the things out of the way before getting some rest."

For a moment I feel it would be better if I just left the paper I had written the questions on, with him.

But I know that would be the coward's way out, so I take a deep breath and open the portfolio and detach the self-inked quill from inside.

I look up at him to find him watching me intently and determinedly from the other side of the desk.

Suddenly, despite the very recent in-take of the Repressive potion, I feel as if my control is slipping and that we are sitting too far and too close at the same time.

I look down at the written paper in my hand and force myself out of the feeling of panic that is rising in my chest.

Stretched too thin.

I swallow everything down with a deep breath and look up to him, the healer in me finally getting space through the clutter of my psyche to surface.

"I have some questions for you and also some for your wife. The nature of these questions might be a bit too personal, but I insist that you answer them truthfully as your daughter's life may depend on it, also I will assure that whatever you wish to tell me will remain confidential between the two of us. I might change the course of my treatment according to these answers of yours, but I will swear upon my healer's oath to never disclose any information that you share with me."

He looks a little piqued for a moment, but then eventually that heavy brow turns determined.

It is amazing for a moment as I realize that in all my years of exile, I had not prepared for this at all and at the same time this has always been on my mind, burning in my veins. These questions, I do not know how he will answer them. I do not know what will be left of my already shredded heart when he tells me intimate details…

I break myself from the thought forcefully, looking to hold on to the thread like consistency of this war between my instinct as what I am and my instinct as a healer.

"Please, go ahead." He gestures at me seriously. Now all traces of the smile gone from his face, his eyes fixed on me, no judgement in them, only expectation.

"As I informed you of the kind of ailment that your daughter suffers from, her magical core being faulty, it is only natural that I inquire after the source of such a flaw. Magical core, as everyone knows, is 90% inheritance, so if your daughter has a problem in her magical core, it means that the problem is in composition of her core, which is closely related to the circumstances in which she was conceived."

His lips purse for a split second and he looks away for the first time. The silence is thick between us. He fidgets in his elegant chair and leans forward elbows on the table and palms pressed against his eyes.

"I think I know what you are hinting at…" he says after a few moments.

Then his palms leave his eyes and when the face uncovers, it is that of a broken and despairing man.

I can almost feel the alien sound scratching in my throat. A coo to comfort him.

"She was not planned. She was not planned at all, and I was so close to walking away from everything. Ginny felt it and I felt it, and I was just so angry all the time, I was…"

He pauses. And I am too steel covered to know how I feel about the words coming out of his mouth. The healer in me though, is hard at work.

"I…" he starts again, pain apparent on his face, and I can tell what he is about to tell me will not be…

"I had been having an affair…"

"I had been having an affair for a few months, but like my marriage, it was also not working out, so I had broken it off, I was angry and frustrated, because no matter… Do you know that feeling when you feel like you have been scooped out by a spoon, or as if there is a void in your chest and that you should be grieving something and don't know what it is. I am not trying to justify my infidelity, only trying to explain my situation. I was so emotionally compromised that even my magic was acting up, and during that particular week after the break up, I had a fight with Ginny, and I don't know what happened but a moment before, I was about to tear something apart and the next…"

An oppressive silence falls again as he hides again behind those steel hands. And I sit there watching and fighting the urge to punish someone.

The unfairness of it.

But this story is not mine and it needs to be told wholly. I have bigger matters to tend to.

"Were you in love with her?" I find myself asking.

He looks up again and frowns at the question.

"In love with Ginny?"

"No, I am asking about your lover."

"In love with Aidan?"

A male lover.

I feel it like a nail to the heart.

As if knowing he had a male lover just took him that much far from me in regards to the realm of possibility.

And at the same time, the fact that he might not have had constraints in sense of gender if there ever would have been a chance in a different world...

No, thinking like this would do no good at all.

"Yes, and was he a wizard?"

"No, I was not in love with Aidan and he was a squib, from a pure-blood family, but a squib."

I try to place the name somewhere in my memory but dismiss it.

"You were not in love with him, but still frustrated because of the breakup?"

"No, I was not frustrated because of the breakup. I was frustrated because even though I was having sex with two people, I still could not feel anything, and I wanted and wanted and my mind and body and core all wanted it so desperately but I just could not find it… I know how it sounds, I know how pathetic this excuse is, but, Draco, you have to understand, this is something that feels like it is the centre of my universe. I never cheated on Ginny again, I could not do it all over again and find myself just as much broken as I have always been. The guilt was like a brick in my gut, but I could not communicate with it in connection to my wife."

It is just as I thought, it is impossible to have things easy and simple when it comes to him.

"So your magic was fluctuating, and you were distressed, but not for obvious reasons which any one in your situation would be and you do not remember what exactly lead you to copulate with your wife and conceive a magical child…"

He looks a little terrified for a second as he processes that sentence and then bobs his head in agreement.

"All right, now we have the circumstances out of the way on your side. Tell me, do you remember exactly the day and date you think she was conceived and if you remember the details of that day in particular leading up to the event?"

"I am sure it was the 29th of March, I remember because it was Molly and Arthur's anniversary the day before and I had not gone to it, even though it was on a Sunday and my day off, but I did not want to see anyone. I could not even stand the sight of my own children so I was hiding here, the whole Sunday and half of Monday, before I had to go home because Ginny was floo-calling every 15 minutes and I was miserable and angry and so I had stormed-in and I remember it was precisely around 4 in the afternoon, when things started to go really out of control. It went on for two hours and it was different than when we had conceived both the boys. I am so sure about the accuracy of the event because, I was staying here for the next whole month and was not intimate with my wife again until at least a month later when the pregnancy was officially confirmed."

I realize that I have not written a word on the paper since he started speaking.

I also realize the tremor in my hands and the levy my emotions are about to break as my sharp mind, which I wish was slow for this moment, makes the obvious connections. I am glad that he had been staring at the fire for his whole narration, or God knows what he would have seen in this face of mine.

As if hearing my thoughts he looks back at me his large green eyes glassy, a small sad smile placed on those strange lips.

"She tied me back you know. If it was not for her, my marriage would have been over years ago. She chained me back and though it was never okay, we managed to trudge along with a semblance of so-called normalcy. But my marriage with Ginny has always been an obligation than desire, which is why it is falling apart now, if there was any left of it since Lily went to Hogwarts. Ginny said she did not want to get an official divorce, and I was always so afraid, because I had this illogical fear of losing my family and being alone again like I was in my childhood, and you won't believe it, but I only got over it in the past few days that you have been here."

"I saw you working your amazing magic and all of sudden I had this strange epiphany that it is all going to be okay. If you can turn around from such a heavy past and become what you have become and step out of the shadows of the past, so could I."

"Hmmm… never mind, I don't think I have as much time as you seem to have to brood over personal growth Potter."

I say standing up, wanting to leave the doom in the room. I need to be alone to process everything that has been said, and everything that cuts me, and everything that needs to be done now. So an appearance of nonchalance is what would be appropriate while I am still in control of myself.

"All I can say about that is congratulations and that I am glad to have inspired you for the better, if that is what you meant to get at in a strangely insulting way. Right now my concern is your daughter and I think you have given me enough to do some further testing on her even without the cooperation of your wife, so thank you…"

I am only a few steps from the door when his voice come floating into my ears and I find myself coming to a brutal stop.

"You were gone such a long time and I looked for you, you know, I looked for you for almost five years after you went missing."

I can hardly breath as my mind deciphers the words. Static, it is all static I can't make sense of. He looked for me? He looked for me for five years?

Before I can stop myself I am turning around and asking, asking, knowing that it will all just make it all the worse. My realizations are already an undeniable, inevitable truth in the back of my mind. In this room today, all of my fears have become reality. All of my pain has been cut through with the serrated knife of kindness.

"Why? Why look for me?"

He stands from his chair and walks towards me, his eyes fixed on me, sincere and deep. Desperate to make a connection. If only he knew the connection that is already there and how it has been the reason for all his daughter's suffering. If only he knew what will have to be sacrificed. He should not do this and I should walk out of here now, before he says something to make me greedy for a life I have never even allowed myself to dream of. But I am unable to move. Not when his eyes are fixed on me and he is standing only two feet away.

"Because of what happened at the Wizengamot after your trial. You wanted to say something to me and I did not hear you out and said some things I regretted a lot afterwards. I really had been looking to make things better with you, you know, but we always were gits when it came to each other and I should have kept my temper in check, and I was already very angry, because there was talk of me taking a bribe to come to your rescue at the trial and the Malfoy reputation did not help at all. I came to the manor two days later, but by then it was on lock down and you were not there anymore. But I did not start looking for you until a few months later when Severus' will was opened and you were left most of his possessions. What was it that you wanted to say Draco?"

'Only that I adored you, and wanted you for not just the being inside me that had chosen you, but for myself. That you were the reason why I breathed, and existed and fought through unlikely circumstances. That I would do anything and change anything if only you would just give me a chance. And that I would die if you did not.'

I want to say it all now. But at that very moment there is a knock on the door and in peeps Albus Severus Potter saying something about the potion, and I am following him out of the suffocating room.

After all the suffering and pain, I still wanted to say it all just moments ago. In his face. After burning for so long, I still want to dedicate what is left of me to him and claim him and be claimed by him. And for the first time, against all odds, I feel the oppressing possibility of it, a chance that it would happen. I could see it in his eyes, the confusion, the feeling, the connection. How cruel is fate that now I have only to put forward my hand and grab the life I have always desired and that only now, my hands are tied behind my back with the rope of inevitable death. My life for the Child's.

Because it is confirmed now, I am the reason behind all of that child's suffering. The spring of 2008 was when I had first tested my heat repressing potion. It had only been able to delay the heat for two weeks and by the end of March I was in the middle of one of my most intense and painful heats ever. 13 year old Aali had been so vigilant with me. Going to the monastery regularly and keeping my problem a secret from all but Healer Mumtaz, who had some experience with Veela heats but could not help much apart from keeping watch of Aali, keeping a watch on me.

I have only read in ancient texts that a rejected veela in special circumstances could have an effect on the mate during the heat over a short distance, but it was all very vague and strongly applied to female veela and male wizard couples. My situation is so unique that there are almost no precedents, which is why the decision is even more blaringly obvious. I cannot get technical about this. Not when a child's life hangs in the balance and especially when I have a single ritual in my inventory that could save the child's life without any dangerous side-effect and risks.

The cost of it is something I had been ready for from the moment I got that letter.

I smile and look into the cauldron where the potion has turned a Translucent golden. Perfectly done.

This potion will help largely in her recovery, and strengthening of her magical core once it is fixed.

As I pour it out in seven vials and drop the silver leaf in before stoppering them, I think of another small vial tucked inside my satchel just a few floors above me with a liquid gold potion inside it.

I realize that I would use it for the last ever ritual of my life. A little bit of luck cannot go wrong.

---

(December 26th 2020 - 3:00pm)

"Malfoy?"

"Granger." I acknowledge her presence without wanting to.

When she simply stands next to me staring outside the window, down in the back garden Mini-Granger and Arthur are scanning through the frozen garden plants for something their grandmother asked them to look for, while Albus stands by the swings with his boyfriend their eyes fixed on each other for past 2 minutes without each of them saying a word. Just holding each other. As if Albus is soaking strength from his lover. I wonder how that feels just to stand there and look into your lover's eyes.

"My daughter is extremely impressed of your skills in healing and I must tell you that she is not easily impressed."

"More like her mother than just her face then." I say simply taking a sip from my mug of sweetened tea."

"I think she is better. Better than I ever was as a person especially for trusting you so explicitly when you have given her all the reason to. I, on the other hand, cannot help my scepticism. But I will give myself a little leeway in this situation, because I have known you longer and in very different circumstances."

"You only think you knew me back then Granger, but I doubt that you did."

"No, I did not know you Malfoy, but I did have you figured out. And you only proved my theories about you right as years went past, which is why, I come with to you now with my concerns."

I look at her for the first time. Feeling the sharp edge of being figured out for the first time after a long time.

"There is something, some ulterior motive of you being here now and doing all this, something you are not telling us, something you are hiding."

She pauses and looks at me for the first time.

"I am not going to insult you and say that I suspect some kind of revenge on your part. I know that is not it. And I know that you are sincere about healing her. But there is something else there too. I have never seen someone make an unbreakable vow so easily and devastatingly. You are in some kind of a fix. I can feel it and while I can ignore it and look the other way since we are getting what we want out of this, I cannot."

We look at each other for a long silent moment. I see the sincerity and determination in her face. I realize that I have never really looked at her so close and proper. I can almost touch the solid offer of confidentiality that she is presenting me with. A new hope, a different kind of friendship. And it would be good, if we could be friends. But I don't have any time left. I wish I could apologize for all the hurtful things I used to say to her, but it is all too late, and Granger was always one of those people who understood and accepted without bringing words into play.

"You cannot do anything about it. If there was even a small possibility, I would have asked it of you, of all the people in this house and perhaps in this world Granger, I would have asked you. I had you figured out too you see. But, there is nothing you can help me out of. It is just the way things are."

She looks deep into my eyes for a few more moments and then nods taking a deep breath. Coming to an understanding.

"Thank you for the offer though. It means a lot to me."

She smiles sadly and touches my arm with some hesitance.

I turn back to look out of the window and look down at the children in the garden again only now Albus and Leo are sitting on the bench by the swing with Rose, helping her sort her frozen herb collection into a small napkin while Arthur swings idly on the swings looking almost like an eskimo.

"She told me that you call her Granger, because you can't stand to give any praise to someone named Weasley."

I can hear the amusement in her voice.

"Despite all the insults, I did always compliment you too Granger, I did always call you a know-it-all, and it is not an insult."

"I never took it as such, not from anyone, not even from you."

"I had no such intrigues with Weasley though…"

She giggles at that, reminding me of her in school days.

"Oh he did not have any intrigues regarding you either."

"What a relief…"

She smiles benignly for a few moments before her face turns solemn again.

"Harry is trusting you with his most prized possession Malfoy, I only hope you will do your best like you have promised."

"It's not like I have not made an unbreakable vow now, is it Granger?"

"You suggested it, you offered it and it was you, yourself, who undermined the value of a simple promise."

"That was because I was settled on saving her life even before I made the vow, that vow was not for me."

"No, it was for the rest of us, and all I can say is sorry. Sorry that we are not better by much. That we still have these insecurities."

"It's all well and good. I knew what I was getting into when I got the letter."

"And what exactly have you gotten yourself into Malfoy?"

"A situation where the chances of my success are hundred per cent."

"That confident are you?"

"You have no idea Granger."

"That is rarely the case." Pipes in Potter as he comes out of nowhere and sets a plate of Jam biscuits on the windowsill.

I don't deign to look at him. Because I probably won't be able to look away and I don't want to give anything away to Granger. Especially when the last dose of potion was 13 hours ago.

"So, when are you going to administer the potion." He asks squeezing himself between Granger and I. I give him a sideways look and notice he is much more relaxed right now than he has been in the past two days.

"At Maghreb."

I feel them both looking at me strangely and think about what I just uttered.

"I mean, at sunset."

"Because of the added Silver yes?"

I am impressed that she noticed and made a connection at all.

"Precisely."

"Best of luck."

I don't answer, only look away.

I know that luck has nothing to do with it. Not with this at least.

---

(December 31st 2020 - 8:00pm)

The knock on the door brings me out of my reverie.

I place the papers I have been staring at for the past hour inside their unassuming cover and put them in the desk drawer before I stand to open the door.

"Ustad?"

It is Junior Potter, and from the bounce in his steps just outside the door, he seems anxious.

I unlock the door by a gesture of my hand before sitting back down.

He enters and stands by the door.

"Erm…"

I look up at him to find him with a nervous smile.

"Yes Potter, what is it?"

"Err… I was wondering if you would like to join us all upstairs for dinner?"

"I would prefer to have it here, thank you." I say as dismissively as I can manage.

"Err... It was just that… It's New Year's Eve and, it is family tradition to gather in one place from dinner until you know…"

"I'm waiting for you to make a point."

I know I am much more harsher than I should be. It is a generous offer. But I have had it with generosity and with endurance and with sacrifice.

"We would like you to be there too? Since it is a family tradition?"

I know he is not to blame. I know he does not deserve my rude refusal that I am about to give him, but I cannot let him or anyone in this house come closer to me than they already have.

Despite all that is happening, I need space and I need a quick retreat when all is done.

I know I feel drawn to his children because there is a part of him in them. I know if circumstances were any better, I would have embraced them as my own, despite of what they represented.

But there is no way. No possibility where I come intact out of this to make any connections.

I turn away from him because I cannot face him while I say what I am about to say.

"You and your family will never stop being idiots will you? I am not a part of your family, so your family traditions don't apply to me. If it was not for your sister's life I am doubtful that I would even be allowed in, not that I would ever try to visit here. I have much more important things on my plate than your stupid family traditions and I genuinely do not care. So please do not waste your energy and sentiments on me. I am not one of your stupid uncles and I have already gone too much out of my way to stay in the place where they frequent."

I turn around to find two pairs of green eyes staring at me. One hurt, the other furious.

He clasps a strong hand on the shoulder of his son. Who startles and turns around quickly before nodding slightly and making his way out of the room leaving both of us alone.

The silence fills the room once the boy is gone. Deep inside I am trembling with excitement strangely enough.

I do not know what is coming next. But it is as if my insides desire fire and blood. I want to goad him, tease and taunt him until he loses control and beats me to a pulp. I want to take a bite out of him.

This has been brewing between us for past four days since the day after Christmas when he told me he had looked for me.

I want to tell him, I want to taunt him with the fact that it was his cruelty and temperament that lead to where his daughter is today. That it is me because of who she suffers. I want to show him the hell I have been through and a part of me wants him to burn in it. To feel the burn, the rejection, the anger, the despair. I want to laugh at the cruel justice of our situation. I want to laugh at him for the strange form of retribution that has come for all my fighting. It was my Veela magic drawing on his across the continent and ocean that has led to this disaster. It is all my fault and in turn his fault and in turn my fault again. A vicious cycle for which he has only started to suffer now, whilst I have been suffering for past twenty years.

And they talk about fucking family traditions!

How many New Year's eves have I spent alone and looking out at the world, without a chance of coming home? Seeing people in their homes with their loved ones shining golden with happiness and knowing there was nothing but cold darkness waiting for me? How many New year's eves when I shivered in cold just to be numb enough to not feel the pain, while he sat by the hearth filled with laughter and bathed with love? And now, now when finally I do have a patchwork family, I will die before another New Year's eve arrives when it could have been Aali, Sarah and I with a little child to be a family with. All because…

"I cannot believe you, after everything Malfoy? How could you do that to him? He worships the ground you walk on, how could you be so cruel to him? All he asked you was to join us for dinner, you could have declined politely too."

"I am here to heal your daughter Potter, not to coddle your fully grown son. I do not have to answer politely to anyone if I do not want to."

"You are a total git you know that? I cannot figure you out any farther than that. You are total and utter git."

"Oh! Potter! Such strong words, I am dying of the poison of your impoliteness, never have my innocent ears heard such a word as 'git'! What will I ever do to become a non-git in eyes of Saint Harry James Potter!"

"Right! I finally remember why I have always hated you Malfoy. I was starting to forget, but thank you, I remember again now."

"Yes you are bound to forget things with the pea-sized brain that you have Potter. I, on the other hand have never had to remember because I have always known and never forgotten. You should put it down on a nice piece of parchment and frame it and put it on your wall."

"Put what on my wall?"

I look at him incredulously only to see his breath breaking into a snort which in turn breaks into a laugh, and unexpectedly I can feel it building in my chest too and it breaks out before I can control it.

A genuine laugh. It is as if compartments of my chest are opening with the pressure of the hilarity and absurdity, I had forgotten how to laugh. And he is laughing with me, eyes shining and creased, mouth wide open and head shaking. And I cannot help the tears that are starting to stream out of my eyes. Because it is so absurd. All of it. There is no reason for me to not take what is given to me so freely. Twenty New year's eves cannot be forgiven or forgotten, but there is no harm in celebrating the twenty first with everything it comes with. Why am I fighting this? Still so afraid of the pain, when that is all there has been, why not embrace a little relief too. Why not live for a day? Why fight now when I have surrendered? Why fight happiness even if it is for a moment. At least have something to hold in your heart until it beats its last. Anything other than pain. Memories, laughter, joy, as short as it may be. After all, is that not a form of love too?

It takes us a while before both of us can control it and I find both of us sitting on the foot of the bed side by side. I can see the side of his face flushed and a red ear as we finally catch our breath. And then he looks at me in a way that shows such strange kind of fondness that my heart skips a beat.

"Please come! I promise there are no fixed courses and you can have mince pies with the Turkey and stew for main course."

"I cannot possibly say no to that, even if I will have to endure the whole train of Weasleys for that."

"Git!"

"Specky Git!"

"I don't even wear glasses anymore!"

"You'll always be a specky git."

He snickers like we never did as teenage boys and it's catching.

A flash of thought crosses my mind regarding the papers in the drawer titled 'Last will and testament of Draco Lucius Malfoy'.

I cannot help but shrug it away. I have a boy to make up to for my rudeness, and a New year's eve to celebrate.

tbc

Chapter Text

 

Chapter : 11 - I have a fire for you in my mouth, but I have a hundred seals on my tongue

 

 

(1st POV)

It took 5 days for the letter to reach her.

It took her 2 to get back to civilization

And she knew all too well, that by the time she got to London, it would perhaps be too late.

Guilt and dread filled her.

She should have done something. Something for the kindness that had been shown to her by someone in a place least expected and at the direst of times in her life.

And now it might be too late. She does not know what is happening, or if what she suspects is the truth at all, but she does know that if it is what she has thought it to have been all along, she might not be able to forgive herself for the rest of her life.

They have to wait a whole day in Nuuk for the Portkey channel to clear because of a disturbance in the magical ley lines in the Arctic Ocean.

Her fingers find the parchment again in the pocket of her fur trimmed anorak as she waits at the Portkey central. She has read it so many times now that she almost knows the words by heart. Written in that clean and economic hand of Hermione Granger.

Certain words surface, connecting to certain memories and her heart feels as if it would jump out of her chest. Instinct. Instinct has always been her bane. Instinct should come with fore-sight she always demanded deep within her. But as the ways of the tragic world goes, it never did, it never does.

She remembers a splash of colours, cosy and serene and so full of life, a perusal, and seeing in between all those colours, one colourless creature, translucent grey eyes, colour of a Hogwarts ghost, looking out of the window but not seeing whatever was outside. A porcelain cup held preciously in long tapered fingers she would never forget.

Fingers, that had opened a secret.

She had been devastated at the state of him. At the despair of him that she could feel fluid in the air.

She'd wanted to ask? She'd wanted to inquire.

Until her brain had kicked in. Her brilliant, cruel, Ravenclaw brain. And she had forgotten that she was looking at a friend and could only recognize the specimen.

She could not believe that she had found what she had been looking for. Two years of research and Six months of wandering around the world, catching scent here and there and this was where it all had lead her, to this man. This boy.

The boy she had once known. The boy who had shown her silent kindness in the darkest time of her life. The unfortunate, unlucky Draco Malfoy. Scared, sad, and oddly kind Draco Malfoy. An unexpectedly powerful Draco Malfoy, who knew how to hide it well. Timid on the surface but with the nerves of steel Draco Malfoy. A bully and pretentious but deeply emotional Draco Malfoy.

She had caught the difference of him even then, but she had been young and in distress. Now she made the connection, finally, as it was ever so blatant to those who knew what to look for.

Draco Malfoy, was a Veela.

A proper Male Veela and 'the' male Veela Healer that she had caught scent of in Egypt just a few weeks ago.

And Draco Malfoy was a Détruit Veela.

And that had snapped her out of it. Out of her Ravenclaw fascination.

And she realizes now, that perhaps she had made the worst decision of her life at that moment so many years ago.

She had decided to allow him his privacy in his grief.

She had decided not to approach him.

And she had decided to keep it discreet.

She had mentioned it to Hermione in passing, glossing it over with unimportant things just to decrease its impact. Everyone glossed over the Draco Malfoy chapter of their lives. As if everyone was ashamed of talking about him. As if everyone shared the silence when it came to Draco Malfoy. Especially in front of Harry. It was as if he was one of casualties of the war. And perhaps he was, and if he was not, they had made him one. How cruel fate had been to Draco Malfoy. She had seen it with her own eyes and she had chosen silence.

She regrets it now.

She hates herself for it in this moment.

She regrets keeping his secret as she can feel the precipice of something devastating about to happen.

She was always able to foretell when something bad was about to happen.

She feels it now in her bones.

The letter says that Draco Malfoy is Healer Beyazlamak and that for the first time in months they have hope for Lily.

But she knows, she knows that there was no hope, not for the kind of illness that Lily has.

And she can't believe that her own uncharacteristic scepticism had made her unable to make the connection.

The Inuit Drakenoids that she had met in Franz Josef Land had confirmed her belief that Lily's ailment had to do something with Veela energy involvement in her magical root itself.

There was only one pure Veela who had ever come in close contact with Ginny or Harry. And it was Draco Malfoy.

And in her mind she knew, that it was Harry. Always Harry. The reason for this dilemma

And then she had found the Russian Wandlore book in the Library of Chukotka Magicia Academia, which talked extensively about Veela and the Wandlore related to them. And she had known. And she had felt the claws of desperation sinking in. The resonating demand in her heart that she had to find Draco Malfoy. She knew the starting point. And she was just writing a letter of excuse to the Headmaster of the academy to give her leave from the two weeks of lectures she had come to Herald Island for, due to an emergency at home and despairing over the Lightening storm she could see from her study window gathering just miles away from the Herald Island on the sea which would inevitably delay her.

She had felt her edges stretching in two different directions. Go to Draco Malfoy, to save him, or to ask him for one final sacrifice. She had not made her decision yet, when the letter had arrived.

It seemed that both her edges had stretched her enough to encompass the world in opposite directions and meet in the middle. And it feels to her as if the world is crushing inside her stretched grip.

She looks at her hand gripped firmly in her husband's as he waits with her in the hell that Nuuk feels like at the moment. Holding her together.

'How am I going to live with myself Rolfe? How am I going to breathe? Live? Love? Laugh? How will I after what I have let happen?' she asks him silently.

Sweet Rolfe, perfect Rolfe, wisest Rolfe simply presses her hand between his graceful fingers and smiles a serious smile. Never says a word. Because he knows that verbal declarations will never satisfy her. And he does not even know the whole story. He just tells her with that firm squeeze that he will be the first one to forgive her and that like everyone else, she is human too.

This hurts her even more. Realizing that this is exactly what she has prevented her most dearest friend from having. A love like this. Where you can break apart and make together every day of your life.

Rolfe has followed her around the world to places so difficult and extreme that they don't even exist on the world map. From the hearts of volcanoes, to the fjords of the Arctic in search of the ridiculous and elusive. Rolfe has been there for her.

And Ginny would not even move to London for the sake of her husband and their marriage.

She has never noticed a moment like this between them(Harry and Ginny). A reassurance and sign of togetherness. A squeeze of the hand, a blink of an eye, a small private smile, a caress…

No, there have only been forced and empty grand gestures of supposed romance.

No, the gesture of true and irrevocable devotion and love is what Draco Malfoy is doing by being present at Lily's sick bed and she perhaps is only one of the few who now have information enough to know how excruciating it might be for Draco Malfoy.

But though in her eyes the connections are made clear, she knows that most of it is still based on assumptions, how would she ever explain everything to Harry? Would it not be the ultimate breach in Draco's privacy. From Hermione's letter, there are no indications that Draco has given away his secret, because if he had, Harry would never hide it from Hermione, and it seems Hermione is only suspecting about Draco's nature from her own observations so she has reached out for her straight-away. But it's too late.

Perhaps if she can get there in time, and if Draco is still there, she can try and convince him to at least tell Harry the truth.

The wand. Harry had taken Draco's wand from him when she had been rescued from the dungeons at the Malfoy Manor all those years ago. And she had been feeling the difference in Draco weeks before Harry came to her rescue. Draco's aura had been changing and changing rapidly. She had seen the missing nails on his hands more than once indicating that he was being subjected to torture while he was in service of the Dark lord, and she had formed a theory that the extreme stress and torture was awakening a different kind of magic in Draco to preserve himself.

It would become apparent to her years later, just what the side effect of that torture, misery and war was on Draco Malfoy.

And it would take her until now, almost 20 years to understand the colossal oversight.

Her legs felt paralyzed as she sat in the Chitchuk library with the ancient scroll in hand and her quill almost broken through the parchment she had been translating it upon.

Draco Malfoy was the only dominant male Veela in existence that she had known of.

And Draco Malfoy's Veela being had matured months before the final battle at Hogwarts.

Harry had had Draco's wand all along.

Harry had told her the story at shell cottage.

Only she had felt the strangeness of it.

Because she had known Draco's dexterity with a wand.

Draco was a prodigy in wand handling, trained directly by professor Snape.

Harry was powerful enough with it, but she had rarely seen someone so formidable and deft with a wand than Professor Snape and then Draco Malfoy.

And Harry had just snatched it out of Malfoy's hand.

Not to mention the fact that Malfoy had clearly recognized Harry and not given away his identity.

It did not add up, but there was so much going on in those days.

But as she sat there with the translation and the chain of events as they were.

It was all coming together.

And then as if like an angel of death, Hermione's letter had arrived with important news at the nick of time.

Now Luna only hoped that she would not be too late, and that Harry and Draco would not be too stupid and that Lily would still be alive and kicking.

She had been unintentionally dozing against her husband's shoulder when the announcement of the clearing of Ley-lines was made.

As she stood by the Portkey portal she looked down at the tattered dark green velvet healer's pouch with the initials DM embroidered over it, waiting for activation, its ingredients had saved her life once, and she had never returned it to its owner. She always kept it on her person as a reminder that help and hope can be found in strangest of places and in darkest of hours.

---

(28th December 2020) – Hermione's POV

She feels double her weight as she steadily climbs up the stairs, but she is mindful of everyone asleep at this ungodly hour, and also aware of all that are not asleep at this ungodly hour.

She checks her wrist and grimaces at the time it shows.

Most brilliant witch of her age she might be, but a nice wrist-watch is still one of her few weaknesses, one which her husband has cottoned on over the years.

She smiles at just the thought of his excited and somewhat nervous smile every time he gets her one.

There are smiles, and then there are smiles.

There are looks and then there are looks.

20 years and their marriage is still rock solid.

If it had been anyone but Ron, she would have gone crazy, she is sure.

But Ron is such a grounding force, such a stubborn mule-like force in exactly the opposite direction of her momentum.

It works in mysterious ways, this heart.

And she can only be thankful for how her own works and for whom.

Right now, as tired as she maybe, as much as she wants the comfort of those strong warm arms and steadily beating heart, Harry needs her more.

And to tell the truth, she needs Harry a bit too. After all the vitriol Ginny spewed about her best friend just a few hours ago, she needs to talk with Harry, be in his presence to wash the acid out even from her subconscious.

She knocks on his study/office door steadily.

"Yes…" comes the muffled reply from inside.

She enters without fanfare to find him almost buried behind a pile of scarlet folders.

Auror Reports.

He looks up at her and smiles and she is reminded of the time when they would spend long hours in the library researching this and that and though he would be extremely tired and not wholly convinced regarding the path of research her erratic mind took her on and dragged him alongside, he would smile at her whenever she would look at him, afraid of looking like a maniac or an obsessive.

Harry, always accepted her for who she was.

The loves she feels for him in that moment is a physical pain in her chest.

"I thought Percy, personally granted you leave from work."

"I know, I just…" he pauses for a moment rubbing his forehead vigorously with his strong sure fingers. Something he always does to step out and detach himself from an overwhelming thought, a habit that never quite faded away from the days the scar on that forehead used to hurt.

She decides to keep her silence. Not talk about Lily, not talk about work, just sit there and be there.

Her eyes find the small book she gifted him just a few days ago lying under the scrutiny of MagiLamp on the table.

"Did you get any time to read that?" she points towards the book before stretching forward and grabbing hold of it.

"Yes, just the first few introductory pages…" he answers before a big yawn eats the rest of his sentence.

"You should get some sleep Harry honestly, the state of you."

"Yes, I think I am going to go catch a few hours, its finally showing up after all." He smiles tiredly, pointing at his problem with sleeping since this wringing of all of them started.

She settles herself on the sofa by the fireplace in Lily's room. Sending off Rose, Albus and Leo to get some sleep, ensuring them at least three times that she can easily keep the watch until Ron comes back from his late shift at the HQ around the same time that Molly would arrive for breakfast.

She opens the book she had gifted Harry and settles down for a read with a large cuppa at hand.

She is through almost a quarter of it an hour later when she notices Draco standing by Lily's bed.

He is now almost in the middle of all the diagnostic spells and incantations he uses to check on her every three hours.

If it was not for the orange glow of the fire reflected in the silver of his hair she would not have even noticed him.

That makes her wonder. The hair, there is something unnatural about it. The colour is not the same obviously and it's pure washed out silver now, much denser than it used to be in school. And it is so perfect in texture…

"Is that some sort of an enchantment?" she finds herself asking out loud without even intending to.

He is almost done with the last spell and he turns to look at her with those strange eyes.

Eyes, yes, eyes have changed too, she notes.

In the orange light of the fire though his face looks haggard, before she blinks and it looks much better. In that split second she could have sworn that the eyes of Severus Snape were looking at her.

There is something going on here just beneath the surface. She can't deny that this Draco Malfoy or Ustad Beyazlamak is an enigma, and were it not for the purpose that he was here, Hermione would have like nothing more than to investigate.

At his inquisitive brow raise she points at his head. Well, glad to know some things never change.

"I am one of the most fore-thinking healers in the world Granger, you would think that I would be able to cure something as simple as premature hair-loss."

"Really? So this is not an enchantment but…"

He simply turns away without answering prompting her to return to her reading. But the knot remains lodged in her mind as she reads the hours away.

It is not until it is almost dawn and a sleepy Albus stumbles in that she closes the book and leaves a few minutes later with Ron in tow.

Hours later she almost violently wakes up from her sleep as the knot finally comes undone.

The hair. She has seen that kind of hair before.

It looked so very much like Veela hair.

Very quietly but quickly she gets out of bed leaving a heavily sleeping Ron behind. Her mind races towards explanations. Now that idea has hit her, she is becoming more and more certain by the seconds that pass. But so are a plethora of other questions.

20 minutes later finds she is standing in front of the Genealogical archives at the ministry of Magic.

3 hours and one distressed call from Ron later finds her frowning over the Malfoy genealogical records.

No recognizable sign of veela to be found in the Malfoy family tree as far back as 15th century.

Her mind prompts her that he did claim to have found a cure to hair-loss, could that cure have something to do with Veela magic or DNA or simply Veela medicine?

But she supposes that with all the influence Malfoys have had in the ministry of magic since its foundation, it would be very easy to tamper with records. But the reason for tampering is what makes her doubt the whole scenario.

Why would Malfoys hide a veela ancestor? It is the height of prestige for a pure-blood wizard to be bonded to a veela in old magical culture and norm that the old families used to follow. Veela inheritance was usually highlighted throughout wizarding genealogical history and there is no purest form of magic than that of a veela and because the choosing of a mate by a veela is a testament to the wizards magical strength and purity as the Veelas are more strongly inclined towards the instinctual choosing of the mate that is the fittest for survival and capable magically to take care of the veela.

If the records have been tempered with for some odd reason, then only the Malfoy family's private genealogical records will hold any true information.

And as it was, only Draco Malfoy had access to the manor.

It's a dead-end.

And by every passing minute she inclines more towards the conclusion that maybe the hair had to do with what Malfoy had said.

Reluctantly she stops the research and goes back home before she has to go to Grimmauld again.

But not before writing another letter to Luna that's been a few days overdue as she tries to keep Luna updated with Lily's progress. She also asks some vague questions regarding Veela heritage that she had been riddled with all evening as there is, grudgingly, no better authority over Veela magic and nature than Luna, after all she has spent years researching the Veela and had some veela blood in her own ancestors.

She would punish herself later for not making the connection sooner.

The connection that was being begged to be made all along, right in front of her very eyes.

With her mind still occupied, she disapparates to the apparition booth just a few meters outside of 12th Grimmauld place. She sighs as she walks into the house, remembering the days when the three of them had been on a hunt for Horcruxes and had taken refuge here. She feels that those troubles in the days of the dark lord were much easier to deal with than these ones. It is never easier when the threat of death looms over one's child.

She believes she now understands sacrifice much more deeply than she did in those days, and she finds it not as glorious as she thought it was in those days.

---

Part 1 :

Draco's POV

"I do not understand. Is the potion not working?" He asks, his green eyes shadowed. A look of pure dread crossing his face like a shadow. Have I not made enough promises, vows, assurances? It offends me that he still does not trust me. But then again, I may be me who is stretched too thin, is a little too defensive and somewhat terrified deep down. I am a manner of a parent myself. I know some of the undying worry one feels for their child. And as little as he knows about magical healing, I would be wary too. I rein my defensiveness in, and calm myself down before I speak. Gaining a small secretive smile from junior Potter.

"No, the potion is working exactly how it's supposed to be working, the potion was never about that. The potion is supposed to fortify her body and mind for compensating the extra strain that may or may not come after this ritual is done. The potion that I have been administering is very much like a nutrient potion that we have been giving her to make her body able to sustain the seizures and compensate all the body mass she lost because of the fever before she was in stasis. No, the potion has done its work, that is to repair all the damage done to the receptacle that has to hold the magic. This ritual is not alternative treatment, it is the next step. I do not know how much you know of muggle treatments, but have you never heard of a bone-marrow transplant in cancer patients?"

Both pair of green eyes sparkle with understanding almost identical for the first time.

"So this ritual that you are proposing is like a bone-marrow transplant?" Potter Junior asks.

"It is exactly like that." I answer conjuring all the conviction that I can and stressing it on this one point.

It is not. I am lying. This ritual is going to be more like a heart-transplant, or rather heart-exchange, where I will replace my magical core with hers and replace hers with mine.

"So…. Then, what exactly is it going to do because I do know the general idea of what a bone-marrow transplant is, but I do not know the rest."

Before I can answer, Albus turns to his father to explain.

"Well, I think, bone-marrow is transplanted from a healthy subject to the patient to encourage growth of cancer-free blood-cells after Chemotherapy, right?"

"Yes, precisely! The potion administration was more or less like Chemotherapy, now I need to do the ritual that donates her a piece of magic that would more or less infect her damaged and problematic core with a healthy one. I will donate the missing part from her core because in her case it is not actually infection, she has a part missing, nothing has gone wrong inside her."

"But if this is like a bone-marrow transplant, is not the donor required to be related to her? I mean, they usually go for siblings or parents for bone-marrow donation don't they? Would it not be better if say, I were to do it?" asks the younger.

"No, this is not blood pathology Albus, this magic pathology, it does not require a chemical genetic signature of blood, Magic is energy it only requires the same frequency. Lily is a sorceress, she needs a donation from a properly trained and mature sorcerer which in this case is 'Me'. I am a healer and a practicing sorcerer very much trained in mind-meld and psyche magic. There is no one in the whole of UK or the continent that can actually do this ritual for Lily apart from me, because most sorcerers are either curse-breakers or academics in this part of the world."

"And what would be the consequences for you if you make this donation?"

The question and the tone it is asked in takes me by surprise.

I look at him for much longer than I usually allow myself and the concern I see in his eyes makes me feel dizzy.

This is the last thing I need at this point.

Harry Potter being concerned over me, treating me as if I matter much more beyond what my purpose is here. Harry Potter having allusions of friendship and camaraderie regarding me.

"I would suffer from magical weakness for a few weeks at most, but my magic will eventually regenerate enough to fill in the gap. But, due to the potion, Lily's recovery would hopefully be immediate. I assure you Potter, if all goes as I plan, Lily can go back to Hogwarts by the end of New Year's holidays. The sooner she starts using her magic after the treatment, the better it would be for her not just magically but also mentally."

He stares at me for a few seconds and its mesmerising to see his eyes turn shiny with tears. My heart beats like a fist punching inside my chest.

"He is right dad, in theory, as this is not blood pathology but magic pathology, the healing would be immediate. We have already dealt with all the physical strains and deficiencies the seizure caused in Lily…."

"You really mean it… You are serious… You really think you can do it."

More than a question for me, it is a recognition and understanding. He knows that I am more than a 100% sure that what I am suggesting will work and that I will be able to execute it to perfection.

"You wanted me to do my best, and this is my best, and this is the best for her… and if you are worried that I would take something from her during the process, you must remember that I am under an unbreakable vow."

I know he does not think that, but it is better than what he does think. Now that it comes to it, I realize that I would much deal with his cruelty at this point than his compassion.

All I ever wanted was his respect. I should have known that with Harry bloody Potter, everything is a package deal.

"Unbreakable vow? What unbreakable vow?"

The confused look on Albus Potter's face is genuine. And I realize for the first time that he does not know about it, which surely means that neither Potter nor Granger disclosed it to their children.

The confusing expression is rapidly turning into astonishment and then slowly morphing into anger as the boy understands the situation.

I would never have anticipated anger from Albus Potter when I was making the vow.

I cut off before he is able to say something to his father who looks resigned and ashamed too.

This is where I should have anticipated things would get difficult. But then again, I never was even slightly a Gryffindor, was I? And these are the kind of disasters that happen when Slytherins start playing like a Gryffindor.

"The ritual requires it to be the night of the new moon, which is falling on the night between 4th and 5th January, means I have only 3 days to prepare and I would need them to myself, if you would allow me I need to run a few errands for the ritual and it would be best if I do them myself."

"Sure, sure, anything you require is yours."

I feel too anxious to do anything more than a nod of head in acknowledgment of the generous offer, the sooner I get out of the line of questioning the better, I am almost lying to him and a single fatefully asked question could mean…

I don't know what it could mean. What would Potter do if he knew that this ritual would definitely give him his daughter back but at the cost of my life.

The answer should be really simple. I thought I knew it from the very beginning.

Of course he would choose his daughter. What parent would not?

It still may be the same choice now, but, I know so much more now.

I know what could have been, and now I also what has been.

And I think I also somewhat know what will be.

The idea of death is ever more frightening, but also liberating.

There is never a single side to anything, there are always contrasting perceptions.

I look back at my life and see despair, but I also see the places to take pride of.

And I have never done so, not in its entire enormity.

I have accomplished so much more than I would have if it was not for this curse, this disability.

I can see now the point in my suffering, it can be referred to as a necessary justification for the sake of it, but it is there.

To believe in magic, is to believe in the omnipotent

To believe in the omnipotent is to believe in one's self.

Perhaps this was the purpose of my existence, it has been facilitated enough.

I have faced no difficulties to reach this conclusion and I realize that this must be the first time an endeavour of mine has gone so smoothly. A decision finalised and actualized without any hurdles.

I mean, it is just another in the long string of pegs that the one thing that goes so smoothly in my life is the choice of how I choose to kill myself. But then, maybe I was never supposed to live.

There was certainly no place for me, and when I am gone, there will be no space left empty.

Yes, the Malfoy blood-line will end, but perhaps that is as should have been all along. I am the last of so many kinds.

My healing work and experimentation will be carried on by Aali. My material possessions will be given to my heir, and everything will just smooth over me.

But, I will remain in memory now.

A small place reserved for me in the mind of the one who has every part of me without him even knowing.

The man who saved his daughter.

The man who changed.

The man who would always have his gratitude.

But what he would never realize is,

That ultimately, against all odds, I lived.

I am the boy who lived. I am the boy who baffled even the omnipotent, because it seems that the only plan he had for me was how I die.

So I lived on my own terms, fate gave me no chances, no gifts, to do so, but I survived.

I am a Slytherin, always will be and that is and always will be my last personal laugh.

I am almost to the door when the thought hits me.

"There is perhaps something that you could do for me, a favour." I find myself saying, even before I know what it is that I am going to ask.

But I know. It has been on my mind quite a lot for some past nights.

The low murmur of conversation that is most probably Albus explaining to his father the procedure he thinks I am proposing.

I turn around to face the father and son again.

His green eyes are fixed on me as if a single word from me would convince him to light the world on fire. I have seen this look before. This was the look in his eyes when he vanquished Voldemort. A singular intense sharp gaze that means determination a glint of the colossus that lies hidden deep inside the persona that adorns friendly jumpers and fatherly smiles.

But I have very few allusions and desires left to myself. We are both wrecked, destroyed and we will both have to find salvation. Only, as always, it would come in different miens for both of us.

Instead, he says one word, to clear me of any doubts, as if asking me for something else altogether.

"Anything." He says.

He has no idea how dangerous that word can be.

I swallow down the noise of my heart with great effort before I ask.

"It has come to my knowledge through various sources…" here I shoot a pointed look at his son who winces for some strange reason "…That you have the Original portrait of Professor Snape in your possession?"

His brow creases "And if my information is correct so do you." He says smoothly as she leans forward his own reaction to anticipation I guess.

"No, the one I have is a rendition, not an original memory inlaid one like I have heard yours is."

He nods in assent a thoughtful expression on his face. I think he is wondering if I am going to ask him for it as payment. I do not why such a thing should trouble him so much. No matter how Snape was exonerated in the end, Potter had hated him viciously for most of their acquaintance.

"I was wondering if you could arrange for me to have a private word with it?"

His forehead smoothens but his expression remains a little puzzled at my request.

Yet his answer comes immediately. Noble and generous.

"Of course! Do you want to go now? Because it hangs in my office at the Auror headquarters, if you want I could bring it to you here…"

"No, that won't be necessary Potter, Originals usually don't like to be jostled around. I would go to it if it is possible and won't be an aggravation."

"I can take you there after supper, that way you would have as long as you want with your privacy intact. Though you will have to side along with me because you had us shut down the floo inside the house and My office is warded to only let me apparate in."

My mind suddenly throws the memory of the close proximity I suffered from the last time he had me side-along him and anticipation, stupid anticipation weighs down somewhere around my navel. I fake absent-mindedness and simply gesture my nonchalant acceptance before I walk out of the room.

I wonder what the evening holds in store for me. But for now, I have some important calls to make, especially if tomorrow the Lord Malfoy plans to return to his manor.

To say his last farewell. Again. Which I tell you is one too many.

I am surprised to find a plush well-used chair sitting facing the two portraits that occupy the nook in Potter's very substantial quarters.

I had once been to the office of Head Auror's department when I was little, as I tagged along with my father for my one of his ministry errands. Which were usually favour gathering and a very mild form of blackmail in most cases.

This office is much different than that. For once it was in the Auror headquarters and not in the ministry of Magic, which now it seemed was in a new different building altogether but not too far from the ministry. It was as if there was a whole magical district that had come into being in my absence, as far as I could see from the window that dominated one of the walls in the nook.

Both the portraits that the plush chair faced were empty. I felt the knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach as I assure myself with the glance at the door that Potter has indeed left the office and is busy in a chat with his old secretary just outside.

I look back at the portrait and am startled to see that the occupant of it has already arrived.

"Severus…" it comes out more like a gasp than a greeting.

His face is neutral. In fact somewhat blank.

"Draco." He says curtly and nods his head in a very formal wizard's greeting.

It is strange. How stilted I feel.

When I am unable to say anything that I had wished to say in this encounter, he sighs.

"I have been hearing very interesting things about you lately. Although I must say that the gushing excitement that Albus Potter dots his stories of you with is more than mildly irritating, but he does remind me of you… but only when you were seven. "

I can't help but laugh at his familiar insults of anything to do with Potter and at the same time feel wetness on my cheeks.

I turn my face away in embarrassment as I dry the wetness from my face.

I look back at him to see his soft expression. One I always knew him to have just for me.

"I think it is futile to ask how it has been…"

I shrug my shoulders, feeling confident for the first time in asking a question that would shape this meeting and probably my fate ultimately.

"Do… do you know the secret?"

He nods, that single bend of the neck that is so characteristic of him.

I don't even have to articulate the question.

"This portrait probably has almost all of my most important memories. I gave them to Potter before I died to instruct him in what he needed to do in order to destroy Voldemort. I was in a compromised position so I gave more than I meant to, and you, you were always very important to me. I know everything."

"You did not tell him…You did not tell him?" I don't know if that makes me angry at him or glad.

"It was already too late…"

"So you know that I am Détruit?"

His expression is of such acute pain and rage that I can hardly stand it.

"Do not use that word! Never use that word! Not when you have survived this long and accomplished so much! I will not have you insult yourself with that word, you will not allow yourself to be defined by the creature Draco, because if you do, it will all be for nothing."

His words, like always, snap me out of my reverie of desolation. With a few choice words of his I am back on track.

I smile up at him and decide that in the end he would be proud of me.

Two hours later when I am about to depart after an exhausting yet liberating one to one with my late Godfather's portrait.

"I'd wished Draco that you would not take inspiration from my example, but that is what you are going to do, is it not?"

When I refuse to answer his question at all than lie to him about this he continues

"Only you ever had the ability to make me proud of you and infuriated with you at the same time, and only Potter ever had the ability to extract such heavy toll from those who love him without even knowing. You are both impossible, no wonder you chose him, devastation as it may have caused you and him…"

I look up sharply at him.

"Him? How so?"

"You have been in his home for past few days and you have not noticed it?"

"I will fix it. I will fix everything." I answer vehemently, knowing the foolishness of the statement.

"No one in this world can fix everything. You must know…"

"Will my knowing save Lily Potter's life?" I interrupt him mid-sentence.

He stares at me with his shrewd and melancholy eyes for a long moment before he simply answers.

"No."

I just shake my head. I have one purpose, one mission, one task and one chance. I do not need distractions. And the one I am doing it for will be the biggest distraction if I let go of the rope even a bit.

"Then I don't need to know, not any further than what I already know."

His resignation is painful to me. And my obduracy is painful to him. But it is the way things are.

"I want you to know, that though I am just a memory, I am proud of you and you know I do not say those words easily."

"I know…" I can't help the tears that are so adamant in their presence.

I turn away to walk towards the door, when I hear him ask.

"What ritual is it that you are planning for?"

I had hoped that he would ask me and not ask me at the same time.

Ask me, because it was he who was the source of my curiosity for it and then my discovery of it.

Not ask me, because I would not be able to lie to him or hide the implications of it.

"The Baburi Supplication."

His eyes widen impossibly.

"You mean you…"

I smile at him, at his outrage, and the resignation that will come to him eventually.

At that very moment as if on a cue, Potter peeks in from the door an inquisitive look on his face.

I nod at him and then turn to the portrait again winking at the memory of my Godfather who is still in shock. It makes me a little happy, if I must admit, I have never made him speechless before.

I put a finger to my lips gesturing at him, reminding him, his vow to keep it secret before I turn and walk away, feeling the weight of one of the first, last Goodbyes.

That is until I step out of the surprisingly tastefully yet functionally decorated office of one Harry Potter, to see him look away from his old secretary towards me and smile.

A genuine smile. As if he has just seen the one ray of hope in a darkened sky.

It started with a drab day.

I hope it ends on a sunny one.

That is when the weight of the goodbye I have just said, stops being a weight and becomes a grounded strength.

I must have been no more than eight when my Godfather had told me the story of the Mughal Sorcerer King Babur and how he gave his life in exchange for his son Hindal's. The little boy who's ailment no healer or Witch-doctor could diagnose.

I remember that it was a soft and sunny day and he had finally deigned to grace me with his presence in my mother's favourite garden, even though it was the summer vacation at Hogwarts.

It had been a strange, dream like day. As in it was never repeated. I did not get very close with my Godfather until I was at Hogwarts. Before that his visits were sporadic and mostly for my parents.

I had as good as forgotten the story, until a few years ago when I had to take on a healer's assistant called Babur in Ulan Bator while I was there because of the Shinji-small-pox break out all over Mongolia.

He was from Pakistan, working on behalf of the Sufi Magic Healers who were both brilliant and extremely elusive. We both had learned a lot from each other in the months that we worked together, but his name had reminded me of the story and the story had taken me to a library in Lahore where I discovered that it was actually a valid magical historical account. My curiosity had peeked to a dangerous level and I had travelled to Delhi. After weeks of search, I had found the evidence of the ritual as narrated by one of his wives who was a witch herself.

The legend was that the most beloved and youngest son of the Emperor Zahir-ud-din Babur, Hindal was the only one of his children that had inherited magic, but when the time came for his magical maturity, he started to fall ill citing some problem in his magical core. After almost a year of looking far and wide for the cure, the boy was no better, which was when the King had called for his crown prince Humayoun and instructed him to prepare for his rule, and sealed himself and the boy's mother inside the Boy's sick room, and prayed all night on his knees. Just a few minutes before dawn, the emperor Zahir-ud-din got up and circled Hindal's bed seven times. According to the only witness, Hindal's mother, at the seventh round there was a flash of light just before dawn which blinded her before it dimmed into the low light of the first light of dawn, She found the boy sitting up on his sick bed (which had been impossible for him for the past few weeks because of his sickness) and the powerful emperor had fallen on the floor.

The emperor of India had died before mid-day and Prince Hindal had walked away from his own bed, seemingly healthy and gaining vitality very rapidly, dying decades later while fighting most valiantly on the battle field.

The ritual as I researched deeper turned out to need a sacrifice and a special supplication rather than an incantation. There were special words of course, but what it actually took was determination and intention offering of one's magical force, and it worked too, because it had been done again, by another king to save his son and heir from fatal battle wounds.

The supplication was actually quite simple and very complicated at the same time.

That is where I started to work out the finer details and perhaps change some of them.

At the time I did not know if I was ever even going to need it, there was just this drive that I should.

Some of the supplication eventually, I changed into incantation which allowed me to tinker with the flow of the power that would be involved in all of it. After weeks of works and experiments I had been able to make it a precise supplication, which was more like a bargain.

In old days, magical language was not well-developed, because of which the tweaking was not possible.

But now, though through the centuries the potency of foundation magic might have lessened, the technique has evolved with such precision that it covers for the lesser potency in most cases.

So the basic supplication had to be changed to specify the conditions regarding what part of your magical energy you are exchanging.

In this case, which feels more like providence as the time comes closer, my changing the ritual and supplication is perfect, because I need to exchange a specific part of myself with Lily. Otherwise, she would also have inherited my veela magic, which would only give her 5 years of survival at most, and perhaps a pain much more terrible….

No, it does not warrant even thinking about it, when it's not going to happen at all. I keep my demons.

The tricky part of course as one would expect, is my Veela.

The natural protection of Veela magic is what makes it a two-layered complex ritual.

Meaning I have to do the supplication with only my normal magical core. Which I would then exchange with Lily's damaged one.

The veela because of being Detruit, has been leeching on my normal magic for over twenty years in order to sustain itself. Which is why it has been slowly killing me. In my estimation, as it is, I would die in five years' time, due to the strain on my magical core.

Replacing it with Lily's damaged core would only give me the days that Lily had left out of stasis. A week at most.

While in a new body and free from the Détruit veela magic, my magical core will flourish immediately inside Lily, especially with the harmonizing potion in her veins.

She would live a perfectly magical, healthy and long life.

This ritual is the best work of mine. It is cruel. It is barbaric. But so is the nature of magic.

He did make me vow that I would do my best to save his daughter.

Little did he know that my best would also result in what not doing my best would result in.

This was always the conclusion of this story.

---

Part 2

Harry's POV

I am to sit and witness.

Witness what?

Follow 4 instructions while sitting and witnessing.

Do not sleep.

Do not speak.

Do not interrupt.

Do not let anyone else interrupt.

It is ominous, the silence in my house.

I feel my tongue asleep in my mouth, my heart asleep in my chest, my blood asleep in my veins.

But I am awake.

Awake and watching.

Witnessing.

I look out the window to see the snow falling in the distant light of a muggle street lamp.

I look at the clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace with no fire happily crackling.

An hour past midnight.

I look at his kneeling form in the centre of the room on the cold wooden floor, head perched over his knotted hands place on the side of Lily's bed. His lose hair hide from me whatever part of his profile I could see.

From this angle, I can, for the first time in as many days, actually see how think he is. He usually cuts such a graceful and aloof figure over all in his surrounding that you don't even notice is actual form.

I wonder if starving yourself is part of the monkhood he belongs to.

His utter stillness is something else that is remarkable.

As if he can sit there as eternity passes around him like a stream. As if he is free from the bounds of time and space.

I wonder what things one has to go through to reach that level of… stoicism.

I remember who he used to be.

And I am determined to never give myself a chance to remember who he is now.

I am not going to remember him, because I do not plan to forget him.

If past few days have taught me anything, it is, that shrouded in Draco Malfoy's mystery is some part of my own self-discovery.

I feel it calling to me. I feel strength of it in my very veins.

I do not know the form of it, or the consequence of it, but I do know that it is something I better hold on to with all tenacity that remains in me.

If Draco Malfoy could find his way and purpose, so could I.

I realized in past few days that I let things that were part of me define myself as part of them.

I let go of my individuality without even knowing that I was doing so.

I became defined by my family, my marriage, my job.

I never took time to actually discover what I was all about.

A reason for things being the way they were with me was my past.

I thought that it would be unbearable if I started to reconcile with my past.

All the loved ones I lost to the war. How could I ever look back? How could ever allow myself to wonder what mistake I could have avoided to give them even a day more to

Now that I see Draco Malfoy sitting in front of me, pulling off an extraordinary feat,(even if he has been down-playing it since the beginning, but I am not a fool)I understand that it is difficult, but not really impossible. Draco's past with the war was even more devastating than mine. At least I had the sense of righteousness about my actions all along, he was on the wrong side of the wrong side and the by the end of it, he had been robbed of everything.

Yet here is, no less extraordinary than a phoenix that rises from its own ashes. Draco's situation in life might not be ideal, but there is that purposeful determination in his very being that speaks to me on a level that I never even knew existed. As hopeless and desolate as he may seem at odd moments when he thinks no one is looking at him, his will and drive is not diminished at all. And here I was for years and years, just floating, moving and going nowhere.

What are you? I want to ask him.

Who are you now? I want to ask him.

Ask him all these questions at a time when there would be nothing looming over his head or mine.

Just sitting down and having a conversation that we never had, not with words at least.

Why did you save my life at the manor all those years ago?

How could you not bring yourself to kill and maim when that was what had been taught to you from the beginning?

How did you survive those three years all alone in that god forsaken house awaiting your verdict?

Why did you come to my rescue now?

What matters to you?

How could you find such generosity in you after all the selfishness that was imposed upon you since birth?

Even if he never answers those in words, I would know, I would know and learn his answers as they flow on that face.

All I need is a chance, and some time, to decipher all the stories I know his eyes are telling me whenever they meet mine.

I know I can, I can feel the connection there. I can feel that the day I find answers to you Draco Malfoy, I would find answers to myself.

Because you are and always were the other half of my equation as a human.

And if you have solved yourself, then perhaps hope remains for me too.

A solution, a reward or a punishment, who knows?

I just need some form of action to know that I am still worth looking for.

Suddenly I hear susurrations, someone is talking downstairs, and there is some movement in the house.

I shoot a look at the clock again and blink in astonishment to see that more than three hours have passed since I last looked. So last have I been in my thoughts.

I look at Draco again, kneeling there in a prayer, legs tucked underneath him hands clasped head bowed. I concentrate on his chest wrapped in his linen shirt and it is through much effort on my part that I see it actually moving, breathing. But too slow, as if he himself is also in stasis like Lily.

He hasn't moved an inch in past four hours. It is yet 3 more hours to dawn.

And truth be told, I haven't moved much either. It is as if I am a part of his trance. Under normal circumstances I would have at least dozed off twice in this time duration. But here I am. Not sleepy at all and fully alert.

My mind wanders again.

2 days ago when I took him to see Snape's portrait.

He had stayed in there for more than 2 hours.

Snape has not been in his portrait since, not in my presence at least.

But I do remember the bizarre smile on Draco's face as he had stepped outside the office and into the reception where I stood speaking with Victoria.

I have never seen anyone come out smiling from a conversation with Severus Snape.

Yet, there he was, and I was not the only one who noticed the oddity.

Victoria shot me a look before pushing the plate of scones in front of Draco, who had actually eaten three as he stood there quietly, smiling to himself, while I dealt with absolutely unnecessary correspondence, just to hold on to the bizarre situation a few minutes longer.

He had asked to go his own way once we had stepped out of my office. And he had not returned until the next morning. Though he had already told me the exact time he would be returning.

I had hardly had a wink of sleep all night.

And it was not because of a sense of impending betrayal, or mistrust. I have known since the day he woke up Lily that he is very much sincere in his promise.

It was a deep worry. A protective instinct that made me restless.

I had given him my mobile number to my own embarrassment just before parting, though to his credit he had not made fun of me and had only raised an eyebrow, before tucking the card in his pocket.

The next two days had gone on the same way. He would leave after breakfast and return late at night.

I would like to say that I do not know what time exactly he returned, but then I would be lying, and I have lied enough to myself.

My thoughts wander off to the divorce documents that are tucked safely in my office drawers.

I search myself for any sliver of pain or regret at their presence.

20 years of marriage should not be so easy to disregard.

But I realize that it has not been a marriage between me and Ginny for a long time, it has always been a compromise.

I know the fault lies with me. I was never one for cookie cut family life though it was what I thought I should have and to some extent what was required of me. I never knew what family was, I never knew what marriage was and Ginny's own parent's marriage was too easy and perfect to give her an idea of what efforts must go into an imperfect marriage or marriage between people who were not soul mates.

The only thing that makes any sense is having children. That is the only thing that I have and that I intend to keep from this marriage. I would go through 20 years of marriage again just to have them. They were the only thing that ever made sense to me in my marriage.

And I guess Ginny knew that which is why we had Lily at all.

It was bound to break, though I never thought that it would be me doing the breaking part, which is what comes as a surprise. Despite the three cast-iron shackles, that are my children, holding us together, so break it did, because those shackles were never really locked, not the way I thought they were.

I was waiting for my breakdown when the papers arrived this morning. But it never came. I was too excited to get to breakfast in order to have a few words in with Draco. He always looks much easier in the morning. And it's fascinating how much Jammie Dodgers he can put away in a matter of minutes without looking as if he is gobbling them down. I wonder what that says about me as a person.

The murmurs rise again from the floor below now. I feel a little bad that I had left Albus to deal with and keep a check on Ginny so that she does not have the brilliant idea to interfere with the ritual.

I do not trust her passiveness. I never have, and for good reason.

I know that once Lily is awoken and healthier the dynamic in our family of five with shuffle yet again. I know that our attitudes will transform, and Ginny and I might even reach a certain level of civility after a period of time but that will not change my decision. I intend to share Lily's custody of course, but if push comes to shove, I will not hesitate to turn the screw, not this time, and she knows this, if her avoidance of me for the past whole week is anything to go by. She always had this calculative, manipulative streak; I just never resisted or retaliated before. And somehow Draco has become the crux of my retaliation.

I know she would and probably is saying things about me behind my back, I see the strain of it in all the Weasleys, with their apologetic looks and constant watch over Ginny, whenever there is any chance of Ginny and I being in the same space. I know they also lay the blame with her, though they don't have to. They can easily blame me. But they are not and that is why, even when the relation between me and Ginny is dead and gone, Weasleys would still be my family. It seems foolish now that I thought it necessary to marry into the family, just to be able to claim it, I should have known that they were always going to be mine. And I can never be thankful enough of that fact.

I wonder how Draco sees my home, my family, how much he understands. What he approves of, or disapproves of. He is the one person right now that I want to sit down and talk with. He is the one person I feel who is capable of reassuring me the right or wrong of the way I am about to choose.

I don't know where this instinct comes from, but it is there. It feels like Draco would have answer to my every question, if he gives me the time of the day.

And I want the time of his day. I want him to know what this rescue means to me. I don't just want to thank him for the single-minded dedication he has shown to Lily's healing, but also to the fact that he was a big enough man to not sneer, mock, devalue or even allude to the situation that was happening all around him. He could have said a million derogatory things after the fiasco with Jamie, but he had not. Not a single word. And how flawless a mentor he has been to Albus in the matter of just past few days. I want him to just say something to me that does not sound so stranger-like and foreign, as if he does not know me. I want him to tell me that my presence affects him too the way his does me. I want him to give me a chance to pay back all that he has done for me by devoting myself to a true friendship with him, and perhaps even more.

I want him to just give me a sign. I know it's a long shot, but I just want to know that I stand a chance at being close to him, because, this Draco, I won't be able to stay away from. I never was able to stay away from him, even when I hated him the most in that childhood grudging way. But now, now, if I could just have a chance, I would give anything to return the gift he has given me. The gift of belief, faith and hope.

For past three days while he has been…running his errands, I have been running through my mind every conversation or instance where we have been alone. There has definitely been an undercurrent, something alive and floating between us. In our last conversation I was so aware of it that I could almost reach out and touch it.

He had come to my study when he returned. I think that he was aware of my worrying and waiting for him for the past two days, which is why he had confidently walked directly to my study. I know, because I was hearing his movements with all my concentration.

The soft knock on my door although was in very much contrast to the confident steps taken my way.

"I wanted to discuss something very important with you."

He looked unsure of himself.

"Sure, what is it?" I said trying to be very easy and pleasant about the whole thing.

"As you know that tomorrow night, I intend to perform the ritual, I wanted to discuss the details with you, and I also wanted to ask something."

I simply nodded at him, trying to encourage him to keep going.

"The ritual will take the whole night and will mostly involve a lot of meditation and energy channelling, so it will require a simple protective runes circle that I will make beforehand. But as is the nature of the ritual I would require some support."

"Support? As in Magical support?"

He looked at me for the first time. His Silver eyes glowed in the light from the fireplace where a merry flame crackled. He looks much paler, if that is even possible in the fire light.

"No, it is a rule actually, a rule of this particular ritual, but also of any localized energy transference ritual, to have a witness. In case something goes wrong, or the performer is more exhausted than expected and the patient needs immediate assistance. Because it has to otherwise be a totally isolated ritual. No one will be allowed inside the room, or even on the floor once I start the ritual, so, I would like you to be present there. It will serve two purposes. You will be a witness and are also her guardian and her flesh and blood, which will prevent any disruptions."

"You want me to sit in on the ritual. Wouldn't Albus be a better choice? With the medical training and everything."

He looked at me for a long moment and in a way that made me forget how to breath for that long moment. It was as if he was telling me something, but it was something I am not supposed to know or understand.

"I want you."

My heart skipped a beat at the straight forward demand. It resonated deep inside me. I knew he did not mean it that way. I knew that, but my heart was in my mouth for some reason anyways. And I realized that I had really got it bad, without even realizing. And if it is ever realized, I would implode with the intensity of it.

It was as if he also realized what he had just said and what it implied even with the relative context. He looked away, breaking the spell of that moment, that moment when it was just in my reach. Or so I think.

"I want you to sit in there Potter. It is just what feels right. It should be you. Being her father, the least you can do is endure a night of sitting still and keep the world at bay for your daughter's sake."

And just like that it's all back in place. Like rewinding the shot of an explosion.

"I can sit in there a thousand nights and you know it. I was just asking, you don't have to question my parenting or my devotion to my children just because I make a suggestion."

"They are unnecessary Potter! I am the healer, I am the performer of the ritual and the one who knows anything about what is required. Why would you doubt my judgment and offer a so called suggestion when only I know what is required? What am I supposed to think when you do that?"

He is right. He is absolutely right. What is wrong with me? At this point if he tells me to go stand in the middle of the room on one leg, I should do it. Without questions.

"I am sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just want the best for Lily, and I am used to have things a certain way with being the head of the house and all that. You are absolutely right. At this point if you should ask me to go stand in the middle of the street on one leg with a vase perched on my head, I should do it, without suggestions or questions, because I do trust you."

"And what possible explanation will I have for making you do such a thing?" he asked, eyebrow raised and mouth quirked in a genuine sardonic smile.

"You're a Slytherin, I am sure you will think of something."

And just like that we were laughing. Quietly and somewhat sadly, but we were laughing. And I do not know if it was the trick of the firelight or something, but it seemed that his eyes were shining with tears. Before I could have confirmed they were gone…

Movement breaks through the veil of my thought and I am rapidly alert. Wand clutched in hand. Draco's warning resounding in my head, 'Wand is not to be used unless a matter of life and death!'

He is standing. Where he was sitting just a moment ago, he is standing now. Head still bowed, and both hands folded neatly on his stomach. He is standing in a way a man stands to pray in front of his god. I can see the movement of his lips.

And he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. His pale skin glows in the almost dark lit only by the orb of energy suspending above Lily which sustains her state of stasis. His white linen shirt and linen trousers hang off his body as if they are floating in air. His hair silver and beautiful tucked behind an ear from the side that is exposed to me.

I shoot a look towards the clock on the mantelpiece.

Just 45 minutes left in sunrise.

Where did the time go? I am sure I have not slept through any of those hours. I have been watching, just as he asked and witnessing just as he asked. Then how did time fast-forward to this? Because he has explained a little bit of this part. He needs to…

And in that moment he turns towards me his head still hanging down but now his hands are open. And slightly reaching out towards the bed as he starts talking steps.

He walks slowly as if he is suspended by strings. And now I can hear his whispers. Unintelligible but present. It sounds like a prayer. A deep fervent prayer. I have never witnessed this kind of magic before in my life.

As he turns around the edge of the bed his back towards me now I can hear soft shuffling sounds from downstairs too. I am ready though. Ready for any possibility. It feels like between the whispers from Draco and the soft sounds of movement from downstairs the air itself in the room is moving.

The idea of standing and doing something is a constant knock in my head. I know I shouldn't yet a part of me is screaming to make it stop. A part of me is scared breathless and I am surprised to realize that it is not for my child, this fear I have that is growing inside me is not for my child but for Draco.

Danger. Peril. Desolation.

I clench my fists, reciting in my head all the instructions Draco had given me hours before.

And just a moment ago I had been thinking that the time had passed far too fast, and now I realize that it feels like ages that we have been stuck here. In this room. Him and I, as if in a state of suspension. He has turned the narrow side of the bed now and is on Lily's left side. He stops in his strange walk and places a slim and tender hand on Lily's chest just above her heart, before proceeding to move again. He keeps his hand on her chest until he has turned the side again and is now walking around the side her head is place his hand goes from Lily's chest to his own.

And suddenly his face is lit in the warm glow of the fire in the fireplace and the glow from the orb above. I can see the tears that stain his face. He is crying and he is whispering and he is walking like a stringed puppet.

The air is still again. As he gets to the side where he had knelt for hours.

7 rounds, he'd said. The ritual required him to do 7 laps around Lily's bed.

And on he goes. Round after round, slow and steady, his speed never increases or decreases and every time he reaches Lily's left side he places a hand on her chest and the other on his own.

It's a devastating act. I do not know the meaning of it. I do not know the procedure. He had called it a supplication. I did not dare ask him what it meant.

But if it was this. It is the single most painful, frightening and awe-inspiring thing I have ever witnessed in my life.

In this moment, the only magic present is between a man and his God. Whoever that maybe. I have never had a God, but at this moment I understand what he would look like.

I am trapped in this endless looping moment, in this devastating ritual.

Now I understand why he wanted me to be here and not Albus.

He knew only I had the capacity to witness these moments.

It is a moment of utter humiliation and eternal triumph for him.

It is a moment he has only trusted me with.

It is something that only I should have been allowed to do, for my child.

But here he is. Slitting his heart open for me to see.

And the weight of that honour is something I may have to live with for the rest of my life.

This is the moment my life changes. I know this now. These are the moments after which you never remain the same. I should know. Very few people encounter these as many times as I have.

And when I step out of this room. I know I will never be the same.

I somehow manage to look at the window. The sky is turning a softer shade of purple with every broken step he takes. It is almost dawn.

I have lost count of his rounds. They were supposed to be 7, how hard could it be to count till seven you ask me.

It is the hardest thing to do, and I have failed.

His whispers turn to low whimpers, yet he moves.

He moves. And moves and I want to go to him but I am trapped. I am trapped in this chair. I am trapped in time.

He is placing his hand on her chest, and I know this is the last time. I know this is the last round. His face is awash with tears as he turns around the side of her head and then he turns towards me.

He has reached his destination. And I am witnessing. And I am screaming inside for what is about to happen.

He stands on her right side, and inclines down just as all the light in the room goes out.

The Gegirgen Orb is gone. The fire in the fireplace is gone. It feels as if it is pitch black and silent in the room. And then I see the light. Where should be my daughter. Two streams now, golden and silver. Flowing from one chest to the other and from the other to the first. It happens for mere seconds.

And then there is a bright flash!

As if thousands of camera flashes have gone off all at once and I feel as if I am blinded.

All of a sudden I can feel myself move again. I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the sliver of orange in the window.

Dawn.

I stand up so fast that my legs almost give in. I realize I have been sitting in one position for the whole night. Legs will take a while to be back online.

And then I hear a cry.

It is such a sweetly familiar sound that I can't help the sound that escapes me as I hear it.

I cannot wait for my legs to function properly.

So I make a jump for it.

I remember that cry. The sound my baby girl used to make when she woke with nightmares sometimes. Nightmares that involved killer dolls usually.

Through the milky orange-purple light of the sun I see her sitting in the bed. I reach for her taking hold of the bottom side of her bed. In that moment she sees me too it seems and she scrambles towards me so fast that she reaches me before I reach her.

"Da…Dadd…dadd…

She is hiccupping now and all I can do is hold her close to me as tightly as I can.

"I'm here, it's all right now. It is going to be fine now."

"No….no… no…Dadd…." She is trying to tell me something but her hiccups are not letting her.

And then I see him. Slumped on the side of the bed, in the spot where he had knelt most of the night.

I try to reach for him but Lily is wrapped so tight around me that I can hardly move.

Just a few feet of space.

"Albus!" "Rose!" I scream as loud as I can. That scares Lily even more. But I can feel her heart beat vibrating through her. Strong and balanced, a little fast but perfect and she is not shaking. There are no tremors. She had always had tremors, even when she was perfectly healthy she would have tremors if she was excited, agitated or upset. But she is perfectly still. Strong and still.

I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my bones that she is fine now. She is definitely strong enough to strangle me. The commotion on the stairs is a relief. And in that very moment. Draco moves.

There is a hacking sound and it feels like he is trying to breathe but is unable to. The door crashes open and Albus is Rose and a few more people are pouring into the room.

I do not know who does what because my eyes are on Draco who is coughing now as golden dust like vapour comes out of his mouth. I try to reach for him again, but Albus is blocking me. Just as someone reaches for Lily's hand that is clenched in my hair.

"No…No…" she is whimpering.

"It's okay poppet! I've got you. You are fine. Look, it's Rose. Look." I try to soothe her.

Her grip loosens on me from its choke-hold but she is still not ready to let go.

Albus is saying something and Lily is saying something and Hermione is saying something, but I can hardly make out anything in my confusion.

"Uncle Harry, it is best if you bring her towards the window, I need to check her." I hear the one voice that makes sense. And I move to its guidance.

As soon as my perspective changes as I reach the window. I look back towards the bed.

And it is a relief to see Draco sitting by the bed and taking long breaths as Albus tries to assist him.

It is as if he feel my eyes on him, he looks up and turns to look at me. Still heaving large breaths.

I cannot help the sob mixed breath and smile of gratitude which is all I can manage.

And it is as if all the lines of pain and suffocation on his face fade in that one moment and he smiles back. The kind of smile I have never seen on his face before. As if all the secrets of existence are opening up in front of me. I had only heard of something to be a 'revelation'. For me it is that smile. A revelation, my first ever.

And in that moment, with my alive and well daughter still clinging to me and my legs still tingling I realize what it feels like to be in love. Absolute and irrevocable love.

And in that moment it is as if I have found sweetest hell and perilous heaven both in one breath.

---

 

Chapter Text

---

Chapter 12 : Never will a Lover's body, be found buried in the earth. To Love is to be God.

 

(Draco's POV)

Since the day, I knew for certain what exactly I would have to do to save Lily Potter's life, I had expected it to be the most difficult thing I will ever have to do.

I guess, if I am honest, I knew what I had to do when I got that letter.

It was an undeniable prompt pushing down on my Healer's instinct.

And I had wondered as I stood before the mirror if I would actually be able to do what it required of me.

Until the moment the skies opened to my pleading I was in doubt.

But the sky did open, if only it is I that will ever be witness to that miracle.

The sky did open. And it gave life to one and death to the other.

As always has been the case in my life.

Realizations come too late.

And when they come, they come at me like a sharp, unyielding sword, that would have its share of blood and pain.

The deal is made saltier with how unchangeable and permanent the decisions I end up making are. I wonder if everyone makes as many of them as I have in my life. Short as it will be. I will never witness the opening of the sky again. I will never be able to share it with any other soul.

Seven days. Just seven more days.

The symptoms won't start showing until the second day.

Will lose consciousness, hopefully, by the fifth day.

Last moments, dying in a coma.

It's the best deal I could hope to get.

At least I get two whole days to crow my victory to myself.

And what a flawless victory it's been!

The girl safe and perfect, like any daughter of Harry Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding world, is supposed to be.

The whole big family of red-heads happy and safe, still in time to make new year's resolutions and not feel awkward about it.

And a smiling, grateful and humbled Potter looking at me as if I am a living miracle.

I am a miracle. That part is correct. But not a living one, not for long.

If you can define me as anything, it is dying.

"Do you need anything?" asks junior Potter for the sixth time I think.

I look away from the day that has dawned. I need to remember everything of this day, and then save the memory of it in a vial. I will bequeath it to Aali, to use in a time of despair, to see how rewarding self-sacrifice can be.

"I am fine, just a little rest I suppose, and make sure your father gets some too, the sooner the better. He is barely keeping himself sitting up. Give him a muscle-relaxant too, but in a spoon coated with honey, it regulates the potion." I murmur at him as if it is a thing just between him and I. In as many days, I have come to learn how to operate this boy which is exactly like operating Aali.

He looks impressed and a little bit more awed if that is even possible at this point. It should irritate me, but it doesn't.

I smile at him.

"I have a whole journal of such little tips that make the usual healing potions infinitely much better, I'll make you a copy."

The smile on his face is priceless, before he hurriedly turns away with a purpose and makes his way to where Potter is still sitting with his daughter who is undergoing every possible diagnostic spell Rose Weasley can think of. And I realize, all of a sudden, that it is going to be so much harder to leave than I thought.

Without realizing I have fell in love with Potter's spawn too.

This boy, this brilliant boy, so much like his father yet so different for the circumstances that have shaped him.

The lump in my throat and the tingling behind my eyeballs makes me look away, only to find a pair of older warm brown eyes watching me.

She crosses the few yards of distance between us her expression unreadable, and takes the empty glass from my hand before spelling it full again from the tip of her wand and handing me back.

I take a sip without looking away from her.

She keeps looking at me searchingly for a few seconds before she speaks.

"I don't know what your arrangement is with Harry, or even if there was any arrangement for services rendered. I know him enough to know that he would not see this situation that way, nonetheless, I want you to know, that if ever in your life you need my help, with anything, you have it, I offer you my favour upon the honour of my magic Draco Malfoy, do you accept?"

For a split-second I wonder if she actually knows what she is offering me, but then I remember who it is in front of me and of course she knows what she is offering me. I am surprised. But then I should not be. Offering a favour upon the honour of one's magic is the ultimate vow one magical person may make to the other. It is like offering one's life and magic to another. Much like a life debt.

And she is not offering me A favour, which would limit the times I can call on her for aid just once, she is offering me the favour, which means that I could call on her whenever I please and she will come to my aid even if it is a life-threatening situation.

It is an ultimate sort of gift of gratitude. And to have it from one of the brightest witches of her age is no small deal.

Bloody Gryffindor nobility.

"I will accept 'A' favour Granger, if it's so important to you, though no one here owes me anything, I was just doing my job."

She nods at me solemnly. Before she turns to look at Lily who is being coaxed into letting her father go and rest by Rose and Albus. The girl reluctantly lets go of Potter's arm that she was curled around and turns to look at me for some reason pleadingly. No one has noticed the change in her yet. No one has noticed her eyes. Where they were a brilliant but dark Sea-green naturally, they have changed now, into a more vivid and clearer grey-green, a mix of her father's and mine. Though, in the light from this angle they seem greyer with just a hint of green.

My heart clenches in my chest.

And another realization hits me.

She is now mine too.

Just as much as she is Potter's.

Or Ginny Weasley's.

She is mine too now.

Always has been. By some strange obscure magical anomaly, she has always had a part of me. Or was missing a part of me that was always meant to be hers. She has it now, and she is so perfect. The most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

And then my vision of Lily is obstructed by long red hair and a white silk sleeping robe.

Ginny Weasley.

She is wrapping her arms around her child and husband.

All hostility forgotten, all doubts ignored.

Such propriety, such claim.

A child now safe in the arms of her mother and father.

Who am I?

And I did not realize that I still had enough heart left in my chest to break a little more.

Cut a little more.

Bleed a little more.

A part of me understands the obstruction. Understands that she may be mine now too, but it is only for myself to know. I have no rights to her, no space.

She has her father and mother. Who will love her dearly and ceaselessly until the end of their days.

A life-time of love, trust and protection she will have with them.

What could I possibly give her now? I have given the very last thing that I had. And all of the rest, she will have plenty for the rest of her life.

I have no right to feel slighted, no right to feel desolate and no right to feel as I am being replaced because I never really had a place.

I thought I had that reasoned out inside my mind. But apparently hurt knows and stands by no reasoning. It circulates and congeals in the crevices of one's psyche, before it poisons everything.

I remember all of a sudden that I have had an audience all along as I tried to cope with this final blow.

I glance up to find startled brown eyes staring down at me.

"Now, if you'd excuse me, Granger, I need to rest… As you can imagine, it's been a very long night."

"Draco...I…"she starts to say something, and I for the life left in me will not acknowledge the exposing of my emotion which she might have just now noticed. So I stand up, it is unbearable to stay in the room, especially when my joints are starting to ache with lethargy.

"Save it for later, Granger…" I stand waving my hand at her in dismissal. As I start to make my way out of the room.

She follows me out to my chagrin.

"But, Draco… the unbreakable vow…?"

I had forgotten about that, but it's redundant anyway. I do not have my magic anymore, and an unbreakable vow is made on magic, not flesh.

"You can do the ritual on Lily's hand, she has a part of my magic now, I think it will work by proxy too until she fully assimilates. I am too sensitive to come into direct magic right now and might be for a few days yet."

"Oh… I see. And she isn't sensitive?" she inquires quietly, following me down the stairs. I know she is being watchful. It irritates me beyond description. Bloody Gryffindors!

"No, she is going to be perfectly comfortable, in fact I encourage doing as much magic as possible on her and around her. The more she comes into contact with it, the faster she will assimilate. If it can be arranged, get her the consent from the ministry, so that she can start casting small spells at home until she goes back to Hogwarts."

"Which should be when?"

"Oh as soon as possible, a week at most."

She grimaces for some reason at that, which I can see in a gold plated mirror that adorns the wall of the first platform. I do not know its purpose, or the aesthetic value of it hanging there, apart from making me notice for the first time how I actually look.

Yes, like death warmed over.

It is as if in a split-second, the long 20 years have vanished, and in front of me stands the same reflection that had confronted me the day this death sentence was written.

Only difference, I was crying then. Lamenting at my misfortune and chances lost.

Now I stand here as the sole conqueror in a war no one knew was being fought all the while. All the chances left, taken superbly and executed flawlessly.

It's strange that I still look exactly the same.

There should be some difference between the loser and the victor.

But I realize, I was only ever me.

Victor or loser, I am me. And there is no fighting with fate.

"Are you okay?" her voice breaks through my revelation and I am all of a sudden back in place.

"I'm swell." I answer before I turn away from my reflection.

She's following me still when I reach the door to my room.

I turn to face her, feeling defensive. But the expression on her face stops me short.

"Harry regrets it, you know."

I don't have the faintest idea what she is talking about, but I can tell from her face that it's important.

"I am not advocating for my best friend…" she pauses "Okay, yes I am, but I just want you to know, that he regrets with all his heart what happened at the Wizengamot the day you were pardoned. There had been a faction of wizards and witches at the ministry who were really lobbying against you and Harry speaking in your favour at the trials. He was taking a lot of rubbish from a lot of people, including some of our very close friends, and he knew what such hatred was capable of, how easy people find it to harm those who they think have betrayed them. Harry was exhausted that day, and then you came up to him, and what happened, happened, and…"

I am frozen.

"He was so worried when you went missing, did not sleep for days, looking, asking around. He was afraid that one of those against you had done you some harm… That was until common sense kicked in, and I made him realize that if the protection of the manor was still intact then you were alive. Only then his search changed and he started looking for you, tracked all Malfoy properties around Europe which as you know is one of the most difficult things to do. It went on for years. And he would only ever tell me about it. How he regretted letting his temper get the best of him at that moment. How he felt like he failed you just like everyone else in your life. I think, after Sirius' death, he regretted what happened with you the most. It changed his whole perspective, I am only saying all this because… Because I want you to give him a chance. An honest chance Draco….

I can't hear it anymore. My insides are boiling and I have no idea where the anger is coming from. But it is there inside my chest like a beast. My veins hurt and my vision is red.

"A chance? Do not talk to me of chance, Granger! I never got any chances in my life! My life did not come together once the battle between evil and good was over like yours did, that was when my life started tearing into irreparable shreds. I never had chances, or choices, I have had enough! I have done enough! I have nothing left to give. No chances, Granger. Not even a space of a breath have I to give! Not to you! Not to him! Not to any bloody creature in this whole wide universe. I have done my part, a hundred times over. No one has any right to ask anything of me anymore, not after…"

I realize what I am about to say and by some miracle I stop.

Or perhaps my body has run out of its rage as quickly as it had come.

Her face is full of concern. And she is brilliant.

And I am breaking.

It reduces the slot of my escape considerably.

"Just… Just give me some space, Granger, let me breathe, I am so tired…."

I open the door to the room, my flimsy sanctuary and enter quickly shutting the door behind me with enough firmness to get the concept across.

It comes to me, the irony of the situation then, and I cannot help but laugh at the sick melodramatic tragedy that is my existence.

I don't stop laughing. Even when the tears come.

All I can think of is the hilarity.

One look, just one look from him had done what twenty long years of yearning and longing had not done to me.

Even if that was the moment when I started dying for good, I lived.

And then he killed me again.

What cost I have had to pay for taking that hand so many years ago to save myself from the raging fire…

Twenty three years of slow burning.

I am ablaze now. Like a candle that flickers with passion before going out at the break of dawn.

Its time to go.

I stand in the middle of the room. Taking in every minute detail. Remembering the laughter that echoed in these sacred walls just a few days ago.

I wish I could bottle the essence of this room and keep it with me until life leaves my husk.

The note is ready on the desk. And the gifts too. I missed Christmas, but it's still not too late.

The case full of vials of the special nourishing potion Lily would need to take for the next week or so.

And just by the case lays my Olive wand. Which now rightfully belongs to Lily Luna Potter. I have left the instructions in the note. It will work for her even better than her own chosen wand ever did.

A copy of my life's work, my Healer's journal lies next to the potion case for Albus Potter. The original will of course go to Aali.

The wand though, might give away some of the secrets. But I will be too far by then.

I want to see him one last time. Without 'her' blocking my sight of him.

I want to see Lily and Albus and Rose one last time.

But one wish is too much to come true in one day for the likes of me.

I hear the Floo ping downstairs with a rush.

"Luna!" someone says loudly.

And I know that my chance is gone.

I cannot face her. I reach for my cloak and my small bag. Fishing out the printed silk handkerchief that belonged to my mother. It's warm with Portkey magic. I am thankful that my Veela magic is still going to be functional for the next 48 hours and will enable me to Portkey, before of course, it starts tearing me apart.

I hear the sound of someone climbing the stairs fast just as I say the activation password. The last thing I see is the shadow under my door, before I am squeezed away from it all.

Out of breath and away from life.

---

(Harry's POV)

"No! No! No!"

Luna looks paler and more distraught than I have ever seen her in our entire acquaintance.

I wonder where she got back from.

She did not look like this even when she had been rescued from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. After days of torture and starvation.

Hermione is holding her close to stop her from shaking.

I look at Rolfe who looks as if he has not slept in weeks.

"What is going on?" I ask from the door of the small powder room where they are all gathered.

Everyone in the room stiffens as if I am a Dementor standing at the door way. Or a boggart.

Luna looks up at me, her luminous eyes red. And just shakes her head before pressing her hands to her eyes and curling into herself.

"Harry," Rolfe comes towards me

The grim look on Hermione's face is enough to send my mind reeling and before I know I am running towards the stairs. My mind showing me one devastating possibility after the other.

I fly upstairs, but it's not fast enough.

Leo and Albus are standing in the corridor. Just outside my bedroom.

That was where I had made Lily go to sleep.

Before any of them could say a word I open the door wide and rush inside.

Only to see Lily sleeping peacefully, and looking absolutely fine.

At the commotion though, her brilliant eyes open. And I am so close now. And she is fine…Absolutely fine.

Only I notice for the first time.

Her eyes have changed in colour.

A striking silvery green.

Ginny and Rose also startle awake from their places on the couch.

"Her eyes have changed colour…"

I say to no one, hoping the one I am really asking for would answer the door to his room is open.

There does not seem to be anything wrong with her other than that though and I know he must have an answer. He does to everything.

"It's a catalogued reaction to replacing of Magical cores."

It's not the voice that I was expecting, which makes me turn around.

Leo, stands in the doorway with a strange expression I cannot quite understand.

I look behind him waiting for a flash of spurned platinum.

"He is gone Harry."

It does not make sense.

I look back towards my daughter. She looks healthy. Perfect. Different.

"Sorry I startled you poppet." I correct the blanket around her unnecessarily just to gather my wits so that I can understand what chaos is happening around me. I had been asleep for not more than 3 hours and it seems the world has suddenly changed shape.

She lies back down without saying a word, her startling silver green eyes, watching me closely. Solid silver mixed with green and the words suddenly echo in my mind again.

"Catalogued reaction to replacing of Magical cores."

"Replacing of magical core."

"Replacing…"

I turn around and stare at Leo and Albus.

Albus looks as if his face is made of ash. A dark green leather bound note-book is clutched to his chest and the other hand is squeezed between Leo's strong fingers.

I quickly step out of the room, grabbing Leo's arm on the way out.

Once the door is closed I flick my wand towards the door with a muffliato.

"Did I hear you correct, Leo? Did you just say 'Replacing' of magical core." I don't know why but my head turns towards the open door to Draco's room. And my legs move on their own accord.

I haven't waited for Leo's answer.

There is too much going on.

I don't know what is going on.

The room is empty.

The bed is made, all the papers are gone from the night stand.

I enter, my heart beating in my chest like a drum, head spinning.

The desk is empty. Except for a brown leather potion case and…

Draco's wand.

Not the one that moved to my will.

The other one.

The strange-coloured one, a greenish grey and smooth as if dipped in oil.

My mind registers that he is gone.

The feeling is sinking in.

It should be betrayal.

But it's not.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

It's not betrayal that I feel. Betrayal is hot, angry and fierce.

No, this is not betrayal.

This is lost, cold, terrifying and miserable.

This is abandonment.

Being left behind.

He said…

I turn around to the crowd that is now gathered outside the door. Leo, Albus, Hermione, Ron, Rolfe and Luna.

I feel so lost. So desolate.

"Is someone going to explain what in the bloody hell is going on?"

It's Hermione who steps forward towards me to speak. She has been speaking to me the longest of all those present. Her words have always penetrated the deepest into me.

"Come with us downstairs, we'll sit down and talk."

Like a lost child that is taken home by a kind stranger she takes my arm and I follow her.

I don't know how long has past since I sat down in this spot and a hot cup of coffee was handed to me. It feels like centuries of waiting, but when I look at the cup filled with the milky Coffee, it is still steaming, so it's not been long.

Hermione sits next to me on the blue lounger while Luna sits with Rolfe on the love seat facing the lounger.

Albus and Leo sit on the rug. Albus' head leaned against my thigh. He looks so exhausted and worried, I can't help but bury my hand in his messy black hair that looks like mine but are much softer, like his mother's. Leo is still holding his other hand though. He is not alone. He has the one that loves him next to him. He is not abandoned.

A silent communication passes between Hermione and Luna and Hermione starts speaking.

"It seems that Draco lied about the ritual he was going to perform on Lily." She pauses.

"No actually, it doesn't seem that way, it is that way. Draco deliberately lied to us all about the ritual he was going to perform on Lily. It seems that instead of a transfusion or a donation of a piece of his magical core, he actually went ahead and replaced Lily's magical core with his own. Taking into him Lily's diseased core and in result…"

"Her ailment." I complete the sentence. Feeling the blank and cold dread inside me increase in size.

"Yes… I think he did it…" I cut her off mid sentence.

"Because there was no other way for Lily to survive…"

"Harry he performed perhaps the most extraordinary magic I have encountered or even read about in my whole life…"

"I know, I was there, it wasn't magic at all, it was transcendence… I might have caught a glimpse of God or something, because that is what it looked like…"

The startled faces of them all would be comical if the situation was not so…

I don't even have a word. I am too shocked, as if I am totally detached from it all.

"So you are telling me that Draco has sacrificed his life force for Lily…" I continue for them.

The nod Hermione gives me feels like a punch in the gut. Not so detached after all.

"That is going a bit far for a life-debt… Why would he even? He could have told me, I would have done this for Lily...I am her father…" something is squeezing my chest,

"Because he was the only one who could do it for Lily…Harry you don't understand, Only Draco could do this for Lily, because he is the reason this happened to Lily in the first place." Luna speaks for the first time.

What?

Even for Luna, that is a far-fetched allegation.

She sees the vitriol that is about to explode out of me. And puts a stop to it …

"Listen to me, Harry. I know you will probably hate me for the rest of our lives when I tell you this, but it is necessary that you know this… I have just come back from the Chitchuk Magicia Province. I have been to the Herald Island the only colony of the Drakenoids. I took Lily's blood with me because Drakenoids are gifted with the power of prognosis. It's impossible to get to them, but it took Rolfe and I weeks, and I was successful. Their leader took one sniff of Lily's blood and told me that she had a faulty magical core because one of her parents was effected by an incomplete Veela bond when she was conceived. It was time specific. It is an extremely rare case, but it has happened before with creature-inheritence. There is only a single recorded case in their knowledge and it is a stuff of legend even for them."

"I have no idea what you are saying…it makes no sense… Is it to do with Ginny?"

"NO, Harry! It's to do with you… You are the one who has an incomplete bond with a Veela. It was not a total rejection, because…"

Her pause is like a shard of glass hitting an embedded nail in the skin of my psyche.

"Because you took the wand, Harry…"

Took the wand?

Hermione interrupts.

"That book I gave you for Christmas, Harry. Of all the wand lore it contains, it also contains the wand lore related to Veela. When a male Veela chooses a mate, he offers his wand to the mate, the mate has to accept the wand into their possession perform magic from it and offer a blood ceremony in return. Which forms a Veela bond. It is a very specific and intimate ritual. In order to refuse the bond, the chosen mate has to refuse the wand. The Veela can then move on and find another mate. But, if a chosen mate takes the wand from the Veela but does not offer back the blood ceremony, the Veela's magic is broken, the Veela becomes a Detruit, and eventually dies, because of the destruction it causes to the magic. This is not common knowledge Harry, because male Veelas are extremely rare. And what is even rarer is a full-male Veela."

I shoot a look at Luna. Something is surfacing in my mind.

"Yes, I think you remember, how Rolfe and I went on a hunt for a full-male Veela with the boys around 10 years ago…"

"But you…"

"I did find the full-male Veela, Harry. Our search led us to Turkey, word of mouth was that he was a wandering Healer, and I found him in a café in Istanbul. But it turned out I knew who he was. He was my saviour, and he was a Veela, and he was Detruit. And it was Draco. I saw Draco in Istanbul. And I recognized he was the Veela, I had started to suspect about his triggered Veela inheritance when I was in the Malfoy Dungeon. He was under psychic torture constantly because of his failure with Dumbledore. I figured that was what triggered his creature inheritance as a natural defense. But I never even suspected that he could be a full-male Veela."

"So I never approached him in Istanbul, because I did not want to despair him. I thought I was doing the noble thing, because my inquiry would only bring him pain. And perhaps hurt his pride. He was hiding, obviously he did not want any people from his old life to know about his situation, or so I assumed. So I kept quiet, and I hate myself now, but I did not know Harry… I did not know then. I did not know about the wand lore, I did not know that it was possible for me to help him."

"I only started to suspect last year. I read it in a scroll in the Chitchuk Library. But then when I got back Lily got sick and it all got buried underneath that…"

It starts to fall together finally.

"Because you took the wand, Harry…"

I took the wand from Draco at the Manor. That is how I gained mastery.

I thought I had won it.

All these years I thought I had won it from him, which is why it obeyed me.

Veela has to choose a mate, offer the wand.

"Wait… I took the wand…"

Luna's wide eyes are staring at me. Blood-shot, tired…

"Are you saying that… I…"

"Who else could it be? According to what little information we have, full-male Veelas are the leaders of the flock they do not mate for reproduction, they mate for compatibility, power and magic, they are extremely powerful mages, proud, over-possessive and volatile, which is why their mates hold such power over them, even word commands in some cases, The most kind-hearted and powerful witch or wizard would be the best bet for the full-male Veela. In Draco's case, he was always a bit obsessed with you, fixated some would say, and you were and are the most powerful wizard of our time, so it was only natural for the Veela to…"

"And I took the wand… And I took the wand…. But I took the wand… I won it…"

"Even so. You were his chosen mate. We do not know the specifics, only that you took the wand and you used it. Cast some very serious and heavy magic with it. It responded to you perfectly, in some cases exceptionally. It won you the war."

"And then I threw it back in his face. I threw it back, and I told him to get lost, I told him to make sure that I never even heard of him again… You said word-command just now didn't you, Luna? Which means, I had that power over him. And I… He wasn't hiding Luna… He was banished…"

My breath catches in my chest. I feel as if my soul is ripping apart. Luna is now fully crying. But I can't blame her. No, only I am to blame in this. Only I.

I did not even listen to him. I did not even let him say his part. How much more am I going to regret that day?

"That is why he insisted on the phone call." Albus speaks for the first time.

His brilliant eyes stare up into mine.

"He specifically wanted you to call him and invite him over…because…"

I don't think I can complete this sentence for him. I don't think he wants to either.

I had banished someone from their home for twenty long years. Just because of something so stupid and petty. I deserve to burn in the seventh circle of hell.

And he could have abandoned me. He could have simply ignored Albus' letter. We did not know who he was, but he had known all along who we were. He came. He took care of my daughter, gave her all of his magic and life and then left without even saying goodbye, to die alone and helpless and in pain.

Just because of few careless words I said to him in a fit of anger and frustration.

This can't be the end of him, the end of me…

It can't.

I need to do something.

He could have told me somehow.

Could have written me a bloody letter explaining the situation.

He could have…

But then I realize.

He had been under house-arrest for three years.

All his correspondences were monitored.

His mother had been killed whilst under the so-called 'Ministry Protection'.

I imagine living in that kind of fear and despair all alone for three years. Waiting, wondering if he would be thrown into Azkaban, killed, or allowed to walk free.

All the while waiting hopefully and dreadfully for the chosen mate to accept the bond.

Chosen mate with a grudge against you the size of Canada.

Seeing the said mate, frolicking across the newspapers with someone else.

My sole existence has been nothing but pain for him. I did not know, had I known. Had I seen the heart of gold that was housed under all that prickliness, I would have done something.

Twenty fucking years!

'I saved your arse only because I owed it to your dead mother! I would have gladly let you die as you are as much of a useless evil git and Death Eater scum as your bloody father was! Hear THIS! And remember it! And follow it! If you know what is good for you, you will leave this country and you will never show your face around here! If you know what is good for you, I will never hear Draco Malfoy's name. I will never see your ugly ferret-face again! If you know what is good for you, Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world, Malfoy! Do you understand?'

It hurts under my skin, as if something is ripping me apart from the inside. As I watch the memory. Watch the hate in my eyes, the vitriol spilling out of mouth. Of all the people, I was unkind to the one who was beaten down already. I do not even remember why I was so angry at him. I'd not defended him because of his mother, I'd defended him because he was powerless and just a child like myself, just on the other side of the rope. Why did I not listen? Why did I not see? He looked so weak and strained as if made out of plastic. Folded into himself. I was supposed to be kind. I was supposed to…

I can't even think, I can't even imagine the breadth of his heart, that after all of it, and twenty years of suffering he still sacrificed his magic like this for my child.

How can I possibly live with that? It is already killing me. But no, it's killing him. This was my punishment, not his, but he has taken it on himself. How will I live with that?

I can't. I can't live with that.

As I review the memory, I see the pain as clear as day in every moment. Despair and hopelessness as I had never seen before, but, it's not over yet, no it isn't. No my ignorant sins are far too great.

'I ASKED IF YOU UNDERSTOOD, MALFOY?' Asks my younger self with such disgust and hatred that I cannot even fathom. I never hated him that much. And now, oh dear God Almighty.

'Yes.' He answers. I can see the tremors in his body, why did I not see them before?

'Good!' I say and fish inside my robe, pull out a wand and throw it in his face. It's Draco's wand. The wand hits the side of Draco's cheek, he does not even move his face in defence, and then falls down clanging against the marble floor. He looks at it as if it's an oncoming green–tinted spell. I see it all now, but I did not pay attention then.

I have always been ashamed of this memory. But never knew the depth of my fault. The consequence of it. Now I do.

'Now get lost and remain lost, Malfoy!'

And he did, he did just that word to word.

He got lost, lost his name, his identity, I never heard of him again, I never saw him again. I never saw Draco Malfoy again. What I did see and meet after twenty years was Ustad Beyazlamak.

I did not deserve even a flicker of the kindness he has shown me. Why did he? He was under no obligation. He…

Because he loved me. I was his chosen one.

And losing Lily would have broken me.

He came to save me, because I was still the one.

Someone out there loved me that much.

It was not just nature, was it? It was commitment.

I am pulled out of the memory.

And I can't breathe.

The pressure in my chest is too much.

I look up to see both Albus and Leo staring at me.

"I….What happens now? What happens now, Albus?"

"I don't know, Dad… But you need to hold yourself together… For us… please…"

His face is so tired and drawn.

I can't stand any longer, so I fall. As whacking sobs leave me panting. I can see in the shadows reflected in the light from the fire place in front of me that Albus moves towards me but Leo stops him.

I don't know how long I sob. But eventually the hiccups subside.

Something kicks open inside me as despair simmers down.

I have fought against so many impossibilities in my life. I will fight this too.

I look up at my son who is watching me, as if recognizing what is going on inside me.

And he nods at me, as if in agreement. My little snake.

"What was the situation of Lily's magical core when the Gegirgen was last cast on her? How much time did she approximately have?"

Albus frowns and wets his lips before shooting a look at Leo.

"Seven to nine days at most…"

Seven to nine days…. It will have to work…

Leo interrupts. Always so blunt, always so brave. "But… Draco has Detruit Veela magic, that will put even more strain on Lily's core… Because that is how the Detruit Veela dies, the Veela magic puts a strain on the life-force magic, making the wizard weak over time and that strain and sort of poisoning eventually kills them, I don't think he has as many days as Lily had…"

I can't help the sick feeling in my chest. The shattering beats of my heart.

But no, I can't give up now. I shake my head.

I have to find him. Even if I can't save him. I at least have to be there.

I have to be there at the end. Tell him that I love him before he is gone. Tell him that I love him for him.

This will be my punishment.

To know and feel the pain of abandonment.

Only he will be killed by it.

And I will have to live with it.

I have no doubt that his is the easy way out.

I have to track him down. And fast.

This will only end with him in my arms. I won't allow it any other way.

And I know just who to ask for help.

---

 

Chapter Text

---

 

Chapter 13: To Die In Love

 

You think you are alive

because you breathe air?

Shame on you,

That you are alive in such a limited way.

Don't be without Love,

So you won't feel dead.

Die in Love

and stay alive forever. (Rumi)

--

 

In a perfect world.

In a perfect world I would have never had this creature triggered into dominance inside of me because of mental torture inflicted by my own Aunt.

In a perfect world, I would have survived the war, whole, with some scars and a lot of shame.

In a perfect world my parents would still be alive. A little battered, but alive.

In a perfect world, I would have gone on and gotten married and have children of my own.

But this is not a perfect world.

And it has different rules now.

Rules that allow you or bring you down enough to cherish a choice between death and life.

Rules that allow you to bask in your own glory for the shortest of time before it all falls apart.

Rules that take you away from those who love you and those whom you love.

Suppression and agony is the way of this world.

But it's all consensual

It is the way you choose for yourself.

To go down in glory and impossible conviction.

In the end it is simpler.

If love for one thing that is instinctual and your genetic coding does not exist.

You have a capacity to give it for other causes.

And other causes need it too.

As much as they may deny it or tell you otherwise.

There is a quota when it comes to love.

You just never realize it until you can't find it in yourself anymore.

Or when you realize that at the end of the tunnel there is no light and just void.

The vessel screams. The pain is worse than I imagined it would be.

But the mind, cruel mind, is the last to go.

It fights tooth and nail to remain intact. It fights tooth and nail to not fall into the void of oblivion.

Crushing its hold on light.

But light is something you can never grasp.

Light is something you can only behold.

I can feel it coming. Death, void, oblivion.

Arrogant and glorious. With all the pomp and show it can possibly manage.

Bringing down a creature like me to the edge of my endurance.

'Let go' it tells me.

I don't know what I am waiting for. But I am waiting for something.

Against all expectations there is still hope.

'Let go' it says again.

"Not just yet…"

---

(Harry's POV)

It feels like going insane rapidly and slowly at the same time.

So many dead-ends in a foreign land.

I check the spidery writing on the card once more and match it with the small English Caption that is written under the imposing Turkish.

It looks deceptively like English at the first glance when written down, but is of course as far from it as perhaps Russian. A 'c' can sound like a 'j' but not really.

I should have brought Victoria with me, I think for the hundredth time. But I could not bear to take her away from her Grand-children in holidays.

Not for my sins.

My daughter has suffered enough for them.

You would think that for a wizard this wandering would be far less gruesome.

It's not.

To this day Portkey remains my most dreaded channel of travelling.

Yet this day…

Oh this day.

I would face death rather than face failure on this day.

But then, one might say that perhaps facing death would not be the most excruciating of punishments for someone like me.

And I deserve something as excruciating as this day.

More than 30 hours and still no leads and I am almost stranded in this country.

Istanbul has to be the most confusing city in the world. And I started in Anatalya

I look down at the address again.

And look up at the dingy looking almost deserted Coffee house that sits smack in the middle of the extremely crowded Bazaar.

By rule, which applies to all coffee houses everywhere in the world, it should be jam-packed.

Yet it stands there quiet and undisturbed and totally ignoring the promise of providing the public with a wonderful warmth from the Frosty weather.

It's just stopped snowing an hour ago.

I take a deep breath. There is nothing to it I decide and with a roiling stomach reach for the entrance that does not have a door.

It is as if I have stepped into a different world altogether.

The Café is indeed a counterpart of Leakey Cauldron.

Only it is at least three times bigger

And five times more Jam-packed.

I am actually surprised at how thick the disillusionment on it should have been and yet I did not feel it at all.

I feel like crying with relief.

So many wizards and witches. Someone has to know of Draco, or Yardim Eli.

Someone stumbles into me.

"Dost, afedersiniz! …I just need…"

I am startled by the British accent of the wizard.

And he is startled by me.

"Blimey! Either I have had too much Coffee or it's really Harry Potter…"

I have never been happier to be recognized by strangers.

"Yes, yes…" I smile at him a smile that feels so foreign on my face it's almost painful.

"Burada Ali Kim bak! Bu Harry Potter!"

It is as if the whole café has turn to look at me.

And then all hell breaks lose.

It takes a better part of an hour for me to actually be able to explain the purpose of my arrival.

And it seems that my luck is finally changing.

The wizard I had stumbled into at the entrance is actually the public relations manager of the British Wizarding Counsellor in Turkey. And after his initial excitement and pride dies down, he does not only has the answer to my query, but also decides to accompany me to the Yardim Eli head office.

The city is growing quite due to the snow, as we trudge across the bazaar and onto the main road.

"I know it's probably confidential, but I make donations to Yardim Eli myself. I wonder what has happened that the great Harry Potter himself had to come down to investigate."

It takes me a few moments to understand what he is trying to say. My mind is placid with worry it seems, I remember feeling this before. It happened before I managed to gain my so called biggest victory, but very few knew at what cost.

Very few know that it is costing me still, because if this isn't a cost of what I was shaped to be and shaped to think, then I do not know what is.

The man is shooting me sideway glances and I realize that he is waiting for an answer.

"Oh, no, the matter I am here and looking for Yardim Eli is personal. It has nothing to do with…my work."

He manages to look relieved and disappointed all at once.

"I am actually hoping to find some information about the whereabouts of an old friend from Yardim Eli, I have heard that he associates with them every now and then."

"If he is a British national, then your best bet would be the British wizarding consulate office. We do keep official records…"

"I have already tried that. My assistant floo-called ahead of me to inquire but it was of no use."

He grows silent though reluctantly. I know it well when the silences are pregnant with brewing and teasing question, and I sincerely have no bloody idea how long I will be able to keep my cards close to heart, or function like a normal human being for that matter. Just to distract myself from slipping too much, I finally take the measure of the man who is accompanying me. Maximillian Howell. He looks a pleasant sort of bloke. Intelligent and confident. I like the fact that he has not shown me that certain kind of deference most wizards show me in London. It's that particular kind of subtle sycophancy, which I can smell from a mile off. I hate people who pretend to respect me. They remind me of Dursleys. And of Malfoys…

No, can't think about that right now.

But it is a fact, my mind promptly points out, that Draco was never really good at sycophancy. He talked tall and a lot, but he respected no one. Even when he threatened others with his father's name. There was always propriety in his expression, never deference. Draco was too proud, and the way he was raised he had all the rights to it. But fate had not played the cards in his favour.

Suddenly his pale young face flashes across my eyes. Half of it illuminated by the green light of the floo. How did I not see his suffering at that moment? Why had I not just looked? Really see…

Now I can't seem to unsee it. I condemned him to a fate that I would not have condemned Voldemort to had there been a way. I know the desperation I have felt over the years. The suffocating feeling of having a mouth, nose and lungs, but not knowing how to breathe. And his suffering has been a hundred times that.

And yet. And yet he had come to me when I was most desolate. He had saved Lily's life. And embraced her death.

How can anyone deal with that? How can anyone pay that back and with what?

I only have my life to give.

But even that is not a pure sacrifice, because I myself desire to be with him. I want him. And in giving myself to him I would still be fulfilling a desire of my own.

If I save his life, I would save it for myself.

And this impurity in purpose makes me look so cheap.

He had no hope, no practical redemption, no expectation, no gain.

And yet he gave a willing sacrifice.

You win Draco Malfoy. You have defeated me and have come to own all my victories.

But it's not over yet, you can have the victory a thousand times over, but I will not let you go for the sake of glory.

Both of us were never noble when it came to each other.

And we are not changing old traditions for anything.

"I apologize in advance, but I do wonder, who would be important enough to warrant a visit from you to Istanbul…"

I am broken out of my thoughts, but I am unable to answer. My emotions are still too close to surface. I don't know what he sees in my face when he next glances at me due to my silence, but he quickly turns away, and it seems like he has finally given up on questioning.

A few minutes pass and now we are walking toward a relatively new block of buildings. This time I do feel the secure ring of disillusionment and repellent charms as we step into an alley. It's strange how the snow in this new block also seems all managed and even as if it has fallen in order that matches the orderly concrete landscape in contrast with how chaotic it seemed in the old city. As old as Istanbul is and as mighty a city as it has been for so long a period, it would not be too much if the forces of nature respected the city just as its inhabitants seem to do.

The Building that houses Yardim Eli seems inconspicuous from outside. Inside is a whole different case though.

With not a small grain of salt does the reception witch puts us up for an appointment with the director. And keeps shooting me glances from behind her counter.

"It's not often that they expect Harry Potter to come strolling into their offices… They don't know what to make of it." Howell it seems is a much keener observer than I expected him to be.

"I mean, if you were on an official tour my boss would be falling all over the place to make things perfect for you. You come into that class of people for which most liaisons have procedures and process training, yet here you are sitting with a lowly public relations guy."

"Right now, the lowly public relation bloke is perfect for the reasons I am here. I don't know if I have said it before, but I would like it to not be common knowledge that I am here and for what exactly. Mr. Howell, it is a matter of utmost importance to me and it's extremely personal. So you have to promise me…"

"Not a word. I will keep this close. It will be an obligation for me to inform my consulate that you are here, but I promise you Mr. Potter, they will only know of your visit to Istanbul, not a word more. I promise it on the honour of my family who supported the Order the first time it was formed. My parents were informers for Professor Dumbledore inside Wizengamot."

I realize, he does look familiar. It must show on my face, because he smiles.

"Yes, you are guessing it correct, I did go to Hogwarts when you were there. Only you were in your 6th year and I was in my first."

"You were not in Gryffindor…" I say trying to place him…

"No, I was in Hufflepuff. My older brother was in Gryffindor though, just a year above me."

"Tristan right? Tristan Howell. I remember him, he had a good swing with the beater's bat for a second year."

"Yes! And he would not shut up about the fact that you promised him a bench position as soon as the main beaters were out of Hogwarts."

"Wow.. it's a small world… Where is Tristan now?"

"Oh… He is in Australia. Met a nice Australian Muggle-born witch and got settled. has four little ones now."

"That's brilliant! Good for him! What about you?"

A small shadow crosses his face. Had I not been an Auror for more than twenty years I would not have caught it.

"I have a son. Five year old. Wife died a year ago. Dragon pox."

"I am sorry mate. Does he live here?"

"Oh no, with his Grandmother in Derbyshire. I get to see him most weekends though and Thank god that I still have him, if it wasn't for…"

We are interrupted at that moment as a tall Turkish man suddenly is in front of us.

"Mr. Potter! I am so sorry for keeping you waiting. I am Yilmaz… Ah! You have Mr. Howell with you."

"Ustad Yilmaz."

We are led into a modest office space with comfortable furniture and a humungous cabinet shelf filled to the brim but strangely enough well-arranged, taking a third of the room.

"I will cut to the chase , because my quest is of utmost importance and with a sensitive time frame. I am looking for someone I am sure you can direct me towards. He is a healer who has worked in association with Yardim Eli for quite a few years. He is known here according to my understanding as Ustad Beyazlamak… Though I know him as Draco Malfoy…"

The pin-drop silence in the room makes me want to scream. I am surprised I am not yet screaming.

Mr. Yilmaz looks at me startled.

"May I inquire as to the nature of your interest in finding the whereabouts of Ustad Beyazlamak?"

"It's nothing to do with law, or with my Job. It's an extremely personal reason. His life might be in danger if I don't reach him in the next few hours. I have already wasted 36hours and I cannot dare…"

My voice breaks most horribly as I feel an almost audible pull in my gut, and I feel as if all my organs will jump out of my body. Nausea, it takes me a moment to recognize for what it is. Its hard for me to remember when it was when I had last eaten. Only some Turkish coffee at the café in the bazaar. Even the thought of food makes me feel sick.

I can't fail now. Every minute is added torture for Draco. Luna had explained. Luna had explained on my insistence what Draco had done exactly and how he has been suffering and would suffer in his last few hours. And oh how I wanted to hate her, but really only I ever am responsible. Luna is only guilty of assuming that a secret would want to be kept when perhaps it was should not have been. But who was to know?

How many more deaths of my loved ones should occur before I understand to harness my impulses?

But then again, how many lives and homes has that same impulse saved in this endless life?

I notice that I am somehow holding a mug of warm and very generously milked tea.

As I bring my hands up to sip they are shaking horribly enough to embarrass me.

I want to cry and scream at my impotency.

If Draco dies.

I am sure that I will not be able to live with that.

If Draco dies…

"If something happens to him Yilmaz, I assure you this will be a diplomatic disaster of a magnitude that the likes of you cannot even imagine. My superior and I will make sure that Yardim Eli is uprooted and destroyed. There are hundreds of other charities that we can bring to the level of Yardim Eli. So you will give this man the information he is asking for. You do that and you forego some small protocol that you have in place inside your private organisation and save another man's life who is one of the most brilliant and exceptional healers in the known and unknown wizarding world and have forever the support of Wizarding Common Wealth association. OR you don't give Harry Potter what he is asking of you, and a man who's privacy you are allegedly guarding dies because of policy and I don't want to repeat what may happen then…"

"I will…"I push myself to speak. "I will do everything in my power to protect his privacy as you have for years . I am ready to provide you with any kind of reassurance you might need to that end."

The man looks much paler than he did before. His eyes narrowed at Howell as if assessing the truth of the threats and then turns to look at me and his expression goes blank. He stands up with a certain determination on his face.

"Please Mr. Potter have the tea and biscuits while I go and pull out the information you are asking for." He simply says before swiftly walking out of the office.

My chest is trembling now. I turn to look at Howell.

"Is his life truly in danger?" Howell asks me.

I can only nod.

"Oh, I do hope you will save him. You see, he saved my son. He saved my little Victor or he would have gone with my wife. He caught the Dragon Pox from my wife too, and then someone got me in touch with… it does not matter. What matters is that he came and worked relentlessly for three days and nights and saved my little boy. You know they say that if a child younger than Seven years catches it…"

"Is impossible to save." I complete for him.

"Yes, and my boy is fine, every time I go home and he comes running down to greet me I thank heavens above for Ustad Beyazlamak. And I know, if anyone can save someone, it is you. You are Harry Potter. It will be out of form for you not to. So please don't give in to despair."

I look long and hard at the man who sits next to me. His earnest belief in me should weight me down. It would weight me down in normal circumstances. But, it does not. Somehow it makes me fight back against despair. I sit up straight. And I can feel the foreignness of my weakness and draining despair.

It's not mine at all.

It's Draco's.

And If I can feel it so acutely at this moment.

It means two things.

He is still alive, but dire.

He is closer than before.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of despair, where it infects my psyche.

I have no idea if it will work but I have to try.

So I send a feeling back.

A plea, a prayer for him to listen to.

'Hold on! Don't go! Wait for just a little longer! Don't let go my love! Not just yet!'

And I feel as if I have reached through. By some miracle I have reached through.

Time gains a strange sort of quality then. A strange sort of desperate calm.

The man, Yilmaz comes back with a crisp parchment.

It's a floo address for an office in Nicosia.

Max Howell insists of accompanying me as far as he can even though his authority means nothing in Cyprus.

We floo directly from Yilmaz's office, into what seems not be an actual office, but a complex of them. Private offices. All closed and Muggle. And I want to kill something.

The sun is already set, and though it is not snowing here, its pouring cats and dogs with winds that can knock a man off his broom. It is the most unfriendly weather imaginable at this moment.

Max Howell suggests that we just break into every office till we get to the right one.

I have a simpler trick up my sleeve, just because I am an auror.

I pull out Draco's strange wand from the inner pocket of my coat.

And simply cast an energy signature charm on it and the whole block of offices.

It is the same technology that has lead to the formation of Magical Monitoring Authority.

And as far-fetched it was, it works.

Though the magical signature is 10-11 days old. It is still there and the office is at the end of the line.

We are bound to find something that will lead us to Draco's whereabouts.

We break in as easily as if it was a muggle office. Though I admit that if my first alohamora didn't work I had full intention of blasting the bloody thing open.

The office is meticulously kept. Everything in its place. Books and journals and papers and correspondence. I can find no clue. I close my eyes when tears threaten to come. And I feel for him again. And realize that he's closer. Not very but closer by leaps and bounds than he was in Istanbul.

I am moving in the right direction.

My eye catches a picture frame on the wall.

It's Draco. In all his beautiful glory, smiling and standing next to a scowling teenager who's scowl switches to a smile when Draco looks towards him to his side and bumps him behind the head in a small but loving rebuke. They both seem to be standing on some kind of terrace and behind them is a view of downhill, and what seems like an old ruin.

Under the picture in the frame is a small caption printed in English.

"Bellapais, Summer of 2017"

"Max?"

He crosses the few steps and come to look at the picture in my hands.

"Bellapais? Do you know where this is?"

"It's not a magical district. That much I can tell you… but that old ruin does look familiar."

He frowns a little for a moment, and then pulls out his mobile phone.

It occurs to me that if it's muggle then I can ask Hugo too, he is the expert in all things muggle. But Howell is already talking to someone.

"Bellapais', I think it's pronounced Bellapay, because it has one of those fancy French 's'es' with the sign on top."

He pauses for a moment as if listening to the otherside.

"Oh Jem! I could kiss you! Thank you so much! I'll explain later!" he hangs up abruptly and turns to me.

"It is a place. It is a small settlement just on the outskirts of Kyrenia in North Cyprus. That ruin, in the picture is why the place is recognizable and popular in the first place. It's the Olive Tower Bell Monastery. One of the only sanctuary and school for orphaned magical people in all of Cyprus and Greece too."

"So it's North of here?"

"Oh my dear Auror Potter! North Cyprus is a different country all together in the muggle world, It's a Muslim state under partial Turkish control. Though it might be one of the most obscure countries, because it is not recognized by most of the world, I don't know why he would go and hide there."

It's like a punch to the nose.

One of the most obscure countries…

"If you know what is good for you Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world Malfoy! Do you understand?"

The cruelty! I condemned him to this. I confined him even after I banished him. Howell is saying something behind me but I cannot make out his words. Because it's obvious to me now. It's obvious where he would be. Where he would make his home.

"He is there. He is in Bellapais'."

"It does look rather like a picture taken at home. Those are not decorative plants behind him and that towel on the ledge…"

"Max… I think I need to go the rest of the way alone. I have already trespassed on your time a lot."

He is a wise man. I can see it in his eyes. If it was anyone else he would have insisted on coming with me to the end. But he understands the impossible.

"I don't want you to be offended, but if you would like, I would like to put in a word for you at the foreign Ministry for a nice and equivalent Public Relations post at London HQ. I think you would like to see your son more often than every other weekend."

He blinks at me owlishly for a few seconds before a smile spreads on his handsome face.

"I would like that a lot Auror Potter."

He takes my hand and shakes it with vehemence.

"Thank you so much for all your help today. You don't know what it means to me."

"Just save him Auror Potter."

"I will!" I simply say. Taking the picture frame in hand.

It comes easily. Even though I am exhausted. The disapparition comes easily.

I apparate precisely in the right place and into a wet hell.

The pitch-dark and the harsh cold rain are my welcome.

I deserve no less.

But it's the pull. It's Draco. I can feel him. I can't suppress it any longer it is so strong.

It is like a scream in the wind that is surrounding me on all sides.

I trudge out from under the tree where I have apparated and look up at the dark sky that is firing down icy rain.

I only have one direction singed on to my heart.

Uphill.

Aren't all worthwhile battles uphill.

I start walking. Wand lit. Rain drumming down.

I can taste the agony Draco is in. I can feel the heat of it. It feels like someone is ripping apart his nerves.

And it pours as the wind howls around me.

The ground is slippery and so I instinctively search to my right. I can see the flattened surface of a road in the few flashes of lightening the sky graces me with.

It gets easier when it has no business to. It's surprisingly not a dirt road but a winding asphalt.

I start running.

I run, with all the strength I have left in this useless body of mine. I run. I look to my left and at some distance I can see the Monastery from the angle in the picture there must be some kind of junction that leads to the place where Draco is standing in the picture.

I look behind me to see a wall of sea thrashing and dangerously pregnant with rain and storm at the horizon. And then I don't look anywhere anymore because I can see a clear patch of land and Magic.

Yes. There is clearly an obscuring charm on the clear patch and I swish my wand with all my strength to break it.

Break it does and I can see the lights ahead. Uphill. Lightning strikes and now I feel as if the nature is with me. I see the house situated about two hundred meters up the small tough-tiled road.

I break all rules and disapparate to the front of the house.

I can feel the shield charms that lay on the house but they have not harmed me.

I try to knock, but at that moment thunder crack decides to follow up the lightning strike.

I blast the door open.

I will repair it for Draco soon.

I can feel him vibrating in the walls of the house. Still alive! That is all I can recognize.

I shed my drenched gloves, coat and my drenched scarf. And remove my ruined shoes and socks on the seemingly warm marble floor and I let my instincts direct me. Stairs. Up the stairs.

My wet feet slip on the polished marble floor as I try to climb up the spiralling stairs two at a time.

The silence I notice for the first time is eerie.

And then I recognize it.

There is heavy silencing spell all over the house. I hardly reach the first floor when a young girl steps out of a side room and freezes.

I know what I must look like. But I can't care less. Draco's presence and pain is so potent now that I can't make heads or tails of it.

"Where is he? Where is Draco?" My voice comes out much rougher than I intend. And she startles and I see her hand instinctively go to surround her swollen belly.

She is heavily pregnant and I am scaring her.

"Where is Ustad? Where is Beyazlamak?" I ask her as politely as I can.

She blinks at me and it's as if in that moment she comes to a decision.

She moves towards a door at the end of the corridor and I follow her before she opens it to a sitting type area. I enter and notice the young lad in the picture stepping out of a door at the far wall of the room a bowl in his hand and his appearance dishevelled. And brilliant green eyes blood-shot.

He stares at me frozen on spot.

"You are Aali… You are Aali aren't you?"

And then it occurs to me. The door that is still half open behind the boy.

He crosses the room so fast that I can't catch up to him until he is upon me and his fist is in the air to hit me. I can stop him I am trained to, but I feel like I deserve it. I deserve the pain, so I let it come against my instinct. He clocks me twice in quick succession in the face and in the ribs. The pain is delicious through the agony. Pain is perfect.

He grabs the collar of my shirt to pull me upright and perhaps punch me again, but I grab hold of him this time. He struggles valiantly in his rage. There will be plenty of time afterwards for all the punches in the world and I do deserve them all, but for now. My love is suffering and I need to get to him.

"I promise you that I will let you punch me all you want later. But I need to get to him right now and you don't want to stand in the way of that. You are his son and I don't want to hurt you even a little but I will stupefy you if you don't stop delaying me."

He calms a bit, but there is despair in it. I let go of him carefully and step towards the door from which he came.

"It is useless." He whispers.

I look back at him and see the anguish in his face.

"He is almost gone."

I steel my heart.

"Remove the spells and take the girl out of here."

"Who the hell do you think you are…" He is interrupted by the said girl's hand on him and his shoulders droop again. She nods at me in assent on the boy's behalf and drags him out of the room.

I stand frozen in front of the door that contains him.

And it's a blink and all of a sudden sound rushes in from all sides.

The thunder outside, the racket of fast-falling rain…

And a song of despair.

Heart-wrenching and nerve-mincing song of despair.

It is beautiful, unbearable and ultimate.

It's a music woven out of sheer pain and my chest is throbbing as I open the door so fast that I almost break it off its hinges.

I cannot see anything but the creature that lies at the far end of the room on the cold marble floor. Facing the junction of two walls, as if it's trying to hide. It's the wings though white as the purest snow, that hide most of his body, flapping uselessly as of that of a dying majestic bird that has been struck down. The way they are folded around him I can tell they are huge. A majestic bird, meant to fly in the highest reaches of the sky.

"Draco?" I hear myself say almost a whisper.

The song stops abruptly.

I can hear the sharp inhale and a moment's pause later. I see a hand with glassy nails shuffle out from somewhere between the wing and waving in the air.

No, it's not waving.

It's reaching for me.

I scramble forwards and grab hold of the hand. It's cooler than mine. And then I descend on the floor to grab hold of his broken and shaking body and turn him as delicately as I can to face me in my lap.

Even in this state he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

The silver eyes are familiar. It's Draco still.

"You found me…" he whispers. Eyes almost gone glassy.

"No thanks to you…" I cannot help but say as I try to gather as much of him as possible in my arms without harming the wings.

His dry and ravaged lips spread into a smile.

"Lily?" he asks.

"She is fine, she is perfectly fine and sends her love."

"She is mine too you know. She is mine too now." He says as a tear escapes his eye.

"Yes! She is, and she knows it too, and I want you to be a part of her life Draco. I want both of us together to be a part of her life."

He sobs weakly at that as his body tremors.

"Too late…"

No, it's not too late. It can't be. I know that this is a chance. It is a risk too. It might be too far gone, but Luna had told me that if I properly bond with Draco's Veela there is a 20% chance that he might survive. But there will be consequences she told me. There will be consequences and to bond with a damaged Veela…I have worked with worse odds and live to tell about them.

At this point I don't care anymore.

I cannot let him go when I have just found him.

It takes much strength and Draco is unconscious by the time I am able to pick him up and move him to the bed situated in the other corner of the room. I straighten him on to his back and even like this helpless and unconscious he is a sight to behold in all his naked and pure glory. I want to kiss every inch of him. Despite the despair, desire washes into me and I add another prayer on top of my other endless prayers.

They call rejected Veelas, tainted Veela in some culture, though in Draco's case I cannot figure out why? Despite his almost ravaged form, I can see the strength that might come into him and what a formidable figure he will cut. Majestic, beautiful and dominant. I spread out his wings properly.

Luna had taken me through the ritual painstakingly. The ritual of formal and complete bonding between a full-male Veela and his human mate.

I scramble across the room searching for it before it occurs to me.

"Accio Draco's wand"

The wand flies from the desk and into my hand.

As I start removing the rest of my clothes I notice that they are still wet. I remove my shirt and undershirt too. I feel a little hesitant before removing my pants and under-pants, but at this point there are more important things than my modesty.

This is marriage, I realize. This is marriage in its most primal and raw form. This is the only marriage I should have had, with both of us conscious for this. But as it is. This will have to do because the consequence of failure would be devastating.

'The pulse point in the neck of a Veela is their biggest triggering point. Only their chosen mates are allowed to touch them there, which is why it is sort of an awakening point for the bonding ceremony.'

I straddle his legs on the bed. Feeling the coolness of his skin acutely. And at the same time something whispers in my head.

This is all going to be mine.

I lean forward and move his head towards the right and I can feel his heart beating furious under my hand on his chest.

His scent hits me first just as I am about to lick the pulse point on his neck. And then his skin is under my tongue and his scent is in my head. Like a long draw of coolest and sweetest spring water to doze the parching summer thirst. Like an unknown and unrecognisable yet most delicious and satisfying flavour bursting on your tongue.

I can feel his breath catch in his throat on the inhale. As I reluctantly detach myself from his neck and sit back up. His eyes are open and staring at me and it is hauntingly beautiful. There is no grey in them anymore, only pure molten and glittering silver. I have to keep in line and not get lost in him. I have to complete the ritual.

I put the wand in his hand and then guide it to my neck holding it steady. The wand thankfully responds to the mixture of his raw and my own magic and sparks into life.

'You have to then offer your blood and accept his magic, you can integrate the two steps into one and cut yourself in the same spot, just near your pulse point on the left side with his wand and offer him your neck. This will be considered blood offering. And once he accepts, the bond will be half complete. I think you know what is necessary from there on. My only instruction to you would be total surrender. It is scary, but full-male Veelas are very considerate as lovers, especially because their imperative in sex is not reproduction but bonding with their mate. Physical, emotional, spiritual…Try not to use word commands too much during the first bonding.'

The cut is small and precise and I feel a drop of warm blood ooze out of it.

His eyes are fix on my neck but he doesn't move. I can feel his skin warming rapidly under my thighs and his wings straighten slightly as if they have just gained new life.

He looks up at my face and inhales once more as if bathing in my scent. And perhaps he is. I can't tell. He is not the Draco I know. He is something very different A true mythical creature and just as beautiful.

He is still not moving, only looking at me eyes wide and desperate and desirous. From my eyes, to my lips to my neck to my eyes and lips and neck again, he looks and deeply inhales with a strange but pleasant vibration in his chest.

Perhaps he is confused. Consent is important to the Veela Luna had told me.

I move my head to the opposite side and lean towards him. Offering now. Here is my consent. Have it and have me and be mine and safe.

He lets out a small choked whimper and then his arms come around me in a vice grip. And his wings flutter as if in pleasure as he crushes me to him mouth finding the spot accurately and…

He is singing again.

Deep and resonating.

He is singing and his song is that of complaining..

As if he is saying to me.

Why did you torment me so long? Why did you put me through so much pain? I missed you, I've wanted you and needed you. I looked for you and waited for you and it was so long and so hard and so painful and you did not come to me. And you put yourself in so much pain. And why did you hurt yourself so? You were mine, then why did you go to others? But you are here now and I will never let go. I will never ever let you go.

I can't bear its beauty. The song is too much and I am sobbing. As thunder strikes again and again outside. I cling to him. Lips finding any part of him I can reach, shoulders, hands, neck, hair and face. He is soothing me. Cool hands warming now as I am surrounded by white. I want him so much and with such passion that it makes my heart stutter. I can feel his desire pressing into me too. We are bonded now, belong to each other. This bond supersedes every other legal or civil bond that I might have been involved in. No one can challenge it and nothing comes before it in any court of law.

The first kiss when it comes is all-consuming. His tongue and teeth ravage my mouth the way it was always supposed to be ravaged. He tastes every nook and cranny it has to offer. By the time the ravaging is done I can hardly think straight. He is hard and throbbing under me and I know that it's only a matter of seconds when the levee breaks between us.

And when it does, it's pure ecstasy. I lose my mind somewhere in between and all I can see is white and silver.

 

---

 

He sleeps so peacefully, my unbridled mate.

His dark hair is chaos and his skin is endurance.

His perfectly rough lips a ruddy shade and his stubble roughened face full of life and experiences.

He is mine at last. All of him. I wait for him to wake entwined around him like a vine around a tree.

His hard strong body and his sheer power.

His smiles and his frowns.

His heart beat and his breaths

All mine. He makes me burn. Sates my hunger and yet lights my desire.

So wild and perfect and beautiful he is. Like a wild stallion. Indomitable. But I will try. Every single day for the rest of our lives. It shall be our little game.

I wish you were here old friend. To see our lover in all his glory after the night we have had to stale all pleasant nights of all the creatures in the universe.

But you are gone now aren't you? And he will grieve you.

I always asked you to share this burden of incompletion, but you never trusted me.

You separated us. You build a wall between the human and the being.

And now the human is gone and the being remains.

And in the end you destroyed yourself just as he finally came to us.

You loved him just as much as I.

You desired him just as much as I.

But you separated yourself from me.

And now…

He is mine, but I fear I will never be enough. I fear he will always look into my eyes looking for you.

Our unbridled mate.

I will love him as me, and love him as you.

One sacrifice you gave.

One sacrifice I will have to give.

To know that I will only be a part of what he desires.

To know that I am his punishment too as much as I am his salvation.

To know that though he has me, he will always want you.

That he will always hear my song but think of you.

Draco Malfoy.

You were such a fool.

 

Chapter Text

- If I Wake Up Crying (Epilogue)-

 

"Only do not forget, if I wake up crying

it's only because in my dream I'm a lost child

hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands..." (Pablo Neruda)

 

The snow can be a cruel canvas.

Especially if blood is what you are painting it with.

Which seems to be my medium of choice.

Bleeding feet.

Bleeding hands.

I hate this dream.

But it never goes away with the realization that it is a dream.

Walk. That is all it will allow me to do.

So I do.

I walk towards the frozen fountain.

Fashioned out of grey stone and over loaded with the same snow.

Solemn nymphs paying sad respects to the non-existent residents of the fountain pool.

Oh, no, the pool is never empty in this dream.

I know it's not real. I know that I will wake up from this.

But I also know that I will not wake up before my heart is shredded into bloody ribbons one more time.

I don't want to move. I don't want to see the turquoise ice in the pool and what lies beneath that vivid sheet of freeze.

But then I am staring at it.

So clear against the gray stone and white snow and transparent.

So transparent.

And grey eyes stare up from under that transparent layer of snow.

Grey unseeing eyes, beautiful and terribly lost.

Pale white untouched skin and pale blonde short hair.

He is so thin and fragile, frozen in ice, on a macabre display. I can't help but reach for him.

But the sheet of ice is a barrier between us. Ice that is turning silver and reflecting rainbow colours as I try to break it with the bloody fists.

Draco! Have to get him out! Have to get him out! I can't seem to breathe and my fists can't move any more.

I am being surrounded now. I have to go.

I have to leave behind Draco to rescue another day.

I know this. I know.

And then I am stepping out of the dream.

Into reality once again.

I am being held and I am being surrounded.

Warm and sweet and determined.

Silver eyes trained on mine watching cautiously.

And my fists against his chest as if trying to push him away.

No.

I order my mind to pry open my fists and pull him back towards me.

He comes easily. But the edge of despair in his eyes is clear as dawn to me who has only been reading his eyes for all his wants and desires for the past Eight months.

"I am sorry love. I am so sorry, I was dreaming again…." I whisper to him as soothingly as I can, pulling him ever closer and kissing those worrying lips again and again gentle and reassuring. The stiffness in the broad shoulder dissipates slowly under the constant heat of my rubbing hands and the stiff protrusions of his wing blades melt back into the skin.

He is kissing me back now. Passionate and relieved, I can tell. I am his. He knows this. But twenty long years of abandonment can do copious damage and make trust a difficult task.

I must admit that things have been better since we moved back to the manor.

A big familiar space with loads of flight grounds and isolation.

The isolation has been the only thing that has worked so far.

Sometimes in the long evenings I feel as if I am going to go mad because of the quietness.

But then I am placed solidly on the ground again when I blink and think of things Draco had to go through for twenty long years.

Isolation, melancholy, anonymity, silence, hopelessness and an impending sense of doom.

I have my miracle.

Someone who loves me so fiercely that it is hard to breathe sometimes when the realization breaks upon me.

Someone so thoroughly devoted to me that it is impossible for an outsider looking in, to comprehend.

And every single day through trial and success and on many occasions, error, I realize how deeply I fall in love with him, with all the parts that are still present and the parts still missing.

Every day, my vow and my bond to him grows stronger and I know that I will give the rest of my life to the sole purpose of putting all of him back together again. Impossible as it may seem, but as always that has never been a deterrent for me and I am not going to start now, when I have found my purpose and my love.

He gave me hope when there was none left. He saved what was most precious to me, he died for the mistakes I made unknowingly.

No, not going to stop trying.

A cool hand at the back of my neck distracts me and I realize that I have been lost in thoughts for while if he has come back from his flight already.

I lean back into the touch and look down at the half-finished letter.

I am nervous. I must admit.

I have been thinking about inviting Lily and Albus to the manor for days now.

I have not seen them both in the last 4 months.

And the last time was extremely brief because Draco could not bear to be away from me for more than 2 hours at that point.

I had foolishly taken 3 hours because Albus was running late and I did not want to return without seeing him.

I had returned to chaos.

The song was devastating and all the house-elves were in despair.

All 75 of them.

And the elflings were traumatized.

It took me 2 days to calm Draco down.

And the progress regarding the dependence we had made in past Four months was almost lost.

"Are you really sure about Albus and Lily's visit on Sunday?"

He moves slightly in that graceful way he does, even when half-naked and kneels down by my side facing me leaning back against the desk.

I notice his hair and his eye lashes are damp.

"Did you take a dip in the lake again?" but then my eyes fall on the window outside and I see delicate droplets of rain staining the old glass.

He has been flying in the rain. I regret missing watching him fly today he is always majestic when he flies, but in the rain… In the rain he is a whole different story. He looks at my face inquisitively and then looks up at the letter that lies half written on the desk. I know he is asking me what the problem is. We have been discussing this for a while now. Or I have been discussing and he has been perhaps acclimatizing to the concept of sharing my devotion.

I can only sigh as he pulls me out of the chair and into his lap as effortlessly as if I was child.

There are times when his physical strength startles me more than his Veela magic.

He has grown rapidly into the form he was always supposed to be.

I can't help myself from caressing the smooth and strong broad shoulders, but he will not be sidetracked even if his throat makes that soft sound of pleasure, his eyes are intent.

"I can tell you that it's not either of you that I am afraid for…"

He shakes his head slightly with a querying expression a little unsure.

"No…" I assure him burying my fingers in his damp silver tresses.

"I think I am afraid of breaking this. I know how it sounds, but I have grown to love this little isolated corner of ours where I can be with you and not be afraid of… This is a world we have made for us. And I belong here, but I also belong there, with my children because I also helped create that world, but now, when I think about it, I cannot help but be reminded every single moment that I am in that world that it was built on your pain. That you suffered for it to exist in the first place. And it's a hot pain. And I wish that I could…"

He just smiles at me, before he shuffles his long fingers through my hair and making an utter mess of the already impossible. It's his way of saying that I am being silly.

I am annoyed for a second. But his eyes are so full of peace and assurance that I can't help but feel as if this is a possibility now. And by Merlin, I want it to be a possibility. Having the best of the both worlds together. Having a life where I can devote myself to my Veela but also see my children regularly, be there at the important events in their lives.

I stare at him.

"Do you know that you are the most amazing being ever?" I can't help but be proud of him.

And there is that signature Malfoy smirk that is showing up more often these days.

I can't help but kiss him. Claim those beautiful lips and pour all my amazement and praise into them.

"The letter…I have to…" I manage to remember sometime later between misty kisses.

But my protests falls on deaf ears, and I for one don't mind that much.

---

 

The reply was enthusiastic. I did not expect any less from my Albus and Lily, but I worry still. It's been a year and My Veela has been making monumental progress in just last two months. On the other hand my children have been so understanding and supportive about this decision that I have made that it is seeming like a good idea every alternate hour, which is until every other hour I can also clearly relay in my mind how all of this can go disastrously wrong. And hence here I sit in front of the ornate floo place of the Malfoy manor, waiting for the clock to strike 9 o'clock so that my children may arrive.

I can feel Draco's anxiousness in my teeth, but it is not as strong as I was expecting it to be. He is pacing lightly in the saloon just off the hall that the foyer leads through. It's not an anxious or nervous pace. It is graceful and unhurried. He has also dressed himself meticulously for the occasion. I remember the surprise it was when I stepped out of the bath earlier. He has been returning towards wearing more and more clothing items lately, but full on proper wizarding robes, it is the first time in the whole year that I have been with him. In the beginning he would fly naked torso in the freezing Wiltshire winter, and always return warmer than when he had left. Such a wonderful display of resilience and magic is awe inspiring much like most of his magical display now. How instinctual it is, how visceral and beautiful. I know he is holding back every time I try to lure him into practice while I practice myself every day and he watches with those hungry and hot eyes, every single move of mine, every single day. Nothing gets to him more than me wielding my magic.

He can levitate on will without his wings ever surfacing above his skin. And one time a few months back when he was annoyed with me because of one thing or the other he levitated close to the Solarium dome in the centre hall for 3 hours, sulking, just sitting there on the air and looking outside through the glass panels at the falling snow, and of course pretending to ignore me. If I had not hit my head on the side of the Marble pillar while trying to fly up to him on my broom, I am pretty sure the sulk would have gone on for at least as many more hours.

My wand is like an object of worship for him, but his old wand, the reason for why this story unfolded the way it did, still makes him extremely sad, which is why it remains in a safe in the library. It is at times like these when I really wish he would speak and explain to me what he feels and how he feels, sometimes I can't help but wish for the punishment of words from him. But when punishment is a desire and release in itself, it is not a punishment any more. So I make do with the silence. Knowing that I deserve it. That is until the song starts and all the anguish his silence causes washes away into mad, mad love and affection.

My mind wanders to the ever growing stack of letters that are placed in the study drawers. Letters from Hermione, Luna, Rose, Leo and of course from Aali and Sarah. Letters that constantly keep me updated about the progress all these minds put together are making in order to do something about the situation with Draco. Draco's own notes have perhaps been the biggest help in the matter, and Albus is so sure that they are very close to reversing the damage done. I let them keep at it and encourage them as much as I can even though I am not really sure what they are trying to do. Make Draco whole again? But Draco is whole, there used to be more, but a part of me knows that no matter how much they research and work towards it, the real key lies with Lily. And if anyone would be able to do it ever, it would be Lily.

But I will never ask it of her, because I know that was never Draco's plan and I will always to my dying breath respect Draco's decision. I have made a vow to myself that not letting Draco die when he planned is the last violation of his wishes that I am going to commit. If ever Lily takes interest and wants to do it on her own for Draco then I will leave that decision to Draco and Lily. But even if I get to spend the rest of my life with just this much, it will still be more than I have any right to ask. I love him, as he was, as he became and as he is now. Any shade, scrap, grub of him is sacred to me. This is what I feel. This where I live now, between love, adoration, and sacred devotion. And though a part of me will always miss the part of him that is gone missing. I am more complete than I have even been.

His cool fingers touch my temple and I am gently brought out of my thoughts, he must have felt the surge of pure and unadulterated love in my emotions which always brings him to my side regardless of circumstances. His beautiful face inquisitive.

"I love you more than words would ever be able to express…" I say to him. He leans forward and kisses me softly on the cheek and turn his head slightly to my ear.

And then like a punch to my chest his voice comes:

"Which is why you should leave off words altogether Potter…"

Before I can say anything, frozen in surprise as I am to hear that voice for the first time in a year and more than that voice the peculiar words that have just been spoken to me, the ping on the floo chimes just as the clock chimes the first strike of nine, and the floo livens up. And out steps Albus followed closely by Lily, and it is such a bright day... Perhaps brightest of them all and why shouldn't it be?

 

- The End -

Chapter Text

Eternal Life is gained
by utter abandonment of one’s own life.
When God appears to His ardent lover,
the lover is absorbed in Him,
and not so much as a hair of the lover remains.

True lovers are as shadows,
and when the sun shines in glory the shadows vanish away.

He is a true lover to God to whom God says
“I am thine and thou art Mine.”

(Rumi)

--------------------------------------------------------

 

The house at Godric’s hollow, must have shrunk in size since he last resided here, is Harry’s first thought as he wakes up. The ceiling with its rustic beige colour, seems closer than before. Or maybe he is more used to the high ceilings of the manor now.
His hand, as it always does now, moves down towards his middle, expecting to feel the strong arm around it, only to meet nothing.
A minor shock goes through him, waking him fully as he can’t stop himself from turning to his left, only to find his bed empty.
A first, since bonding.

He would never tell it to his significant other, who was very significant, but he felt a bit desolate.
But, then again, his significant other would not need telling. And it would be rather shameless of him, wouldn’t it?

He turns back and curls in a little on himself. And notices that there is more light in the room than there is meant to be. And more air in the room than there is meant to be.
He is too tired to really get up and explore why, and frankly, he wants to remain hidden a few more minutes, before he has to face the clutter and chaos outside. It’s the light of Dawn. And the day ahead is long.

More wind and light comes in, as the Big French window slides open from the outside. The soft thump of those graceful feet is quiet and reassuring. There is slight movement in the bed.

“I thought you would sleep in more.” The voice comes from much closer as a cool arm reaches for Harry’s previously desolate waist from his back.

“You smell like you were flying.” Harry takes a deep breath under the soft covers.
There is a soft click, the kind only Harry can hear. He can imagine a soft smile on that devastatingly beautiful face. Before the voice and the breath in his ear is even softer.
“It’s a beautiful day, and a beautiful little town, and I wanted to get it out of the way before someone could see me. I did not wander far.” The statement culminates in a kiss on Harry’s neck just under his ear. The sensation of the lips, cool but pleasant. Harry feels sleep coming again. His emotions from moments before calm now. He recognizes what it is. And he appreciates it.

The arm around Harry’s waist moves again, the hand feeling it’s way up until the palm of the graceful hand is flat against Harry’s heart.

“You can fly all you want, but not shirtless.” Harry murmurs, hearing a soft snicker in his ear and a soft yet amused “Yes, sir” before he gives in to his sleep again.

 

---

 

By the time Harry is at the breakfast table, it’s half past 10. Lily has already hijacked all of Draco’s attention and dragged him out to the back yard where all the flower arrangements are in progress.
Harry is looking through the newspaper, reminded of the many request letters he still gets from the ministry for him to accept immediate reinstatement. It makes a part of Harry feel guilty. But then the rest of him feels absolutely fine with not returning to work just yet. He knows he will eventually, but not yet.
Harry looks at Albus, putting away the newspaper aside. He watches while Albus is moving food on his plate looking a little forlorn.
“Why the long face?” Harry asks after he takes a sip of his tea.
Albus looks up at him, grimaces a little and then looks down at his plate again.
“It’s Leo’s Mother.”

“Of course it is” Harry mutters.
“Leo assures me, she will be here tonight for the rehearsal dinner, but I am just dreading… What if she says something to Draco?”

“Well, we can get one of your uncles to make sure that she does not find her way to Draco. But I am sure, Draco is capable of handling her himself. He has been handling being around your mother for the past 5 years. I am sure Leo’s mother could not be worse than Ginny.”

“We all know, mum is just doing it now for the sake of doing it. You know she has no steam behind it. It’s a habit now more than anything. She is happier with Seamus than she has ever been with you, he is an absolute simp. If I were her, a woman scorned, I would turn the display of my happiness to 11” Albus shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the thought of his mother’s recent attitude.

Harry can’t help but laugh a little on Albus’ remark. Before he can say anything, James barges into the house, totally loaded with shopping bags on each arm.

“Here comes the Groom!”  Harry says loudly.

“God’s Sake! Not now Dad!” James says as he unceremoniously dumps all the shopping bags on the Sofa, and walks and almost falls on to the chair next to Harry in the breakfast nook.

“You do remember, that you are a wizard, and that you did not have to carry all that shopping on your Arms like a Muggle.” Albus chimes in, his mood suddenly uplifted at the chance of throwing jabs at his elder brother.

“Yes, I bloody remember that I am a WIZARD, but did your posh boyfriend not tell you? Shrinking packages by magic can reduce the QUALITY of luxury items. Or so my equally Posh Fiance, whom I am going to Marry tomorrow, claims. How will I live with myself if I ruin her PRADA by a shrinking spell?”

“Oh, that is so super star celebrity of you pshhhh, how could we plebians ever compare? But, like Bruv, she is not here right now is she? and they already did Travel through Portkey?”  Albus leans in conspiratorially his eyes sparkling with good humor. Albus likes to use muggle colloquialisms sarcstically because he knows it annoys James. 

“Nah Bruv. I would not want to risk it. These girls, they have ways to find out. What if she really could tell? That would not bode well for my marriage now would it?” James answers returning the favor.

“Trust is Key.” Lily chimes in from behind Albus. Followed by Draco.
“Jamie, you have the colour samples June sent for me right? Please tell me you do!”
But James hardly hears Lily, his eyes fixed on Draco who is behind Lily.

“Hello James.” Draco says calmly, taking the other seat next to Harry, immediately putting another toast on Harry’s plate, before he puts one on his own.

The table is silent now.

“Hello… Mr. Malfoy.” James says hesitantly.
“Pffttt…” Lily snorts on her bite of scone.
James shoots her a sheepish glare.
“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials…” Draco says calmly his long, leg finding it’s place locking his ankle quietly with Harry’s under the table. A thing he often does still in a gathering, when there is too much chaos around. It is an anchoring act for both of them. Life with a Veela has it’s perks… And it’s complications too.
“Thank you.” James smiles politely and then looks down at the plate Donni the house-elf has just brought him.
Harry cannot help but smile to himself, as everyone gets into actually eating their breakfasts.

And for a moment, a comfortable silence falls. With only the sounds of utensils breaking it. Harry, who would almost be done with his breakfast if not for being given an extra toast by the love of his life, observes the scene quietly, like he is a spectator to his own life.

Lily is texting rapidly on her recently acquired Magica smartphone while she eats.
Albus is now eating properly, in sort of a competition with James now, who seems more content now than exhausted that he was moments before.

And then Harry turns to look at Draco who is chewing thoughtfully while bending his neck a little looking at the newspaper lying next to him on the table, that Harry had put there.
It’s such a domestic and simple moment. Yet it seems monumental to Harry.
Because Harry realizes, that his heart desires for absolutely nothing more than this perfect moment. When he thinks of the journey he took, to get to this place, this moment.
It makes his heart swell and ache in his chest and his eyes tear up with the sudden flow of emotion. Draco stiffens in his seat and looks at him. A silver light glowing for a split second in those crystal eyes. Searching, looking, feeling,

“I am so happy…”
Harry sends him through his emotions.
Draco’s hand reaches for his under the table and takes hold of Harry Wrist in a vice-grip. Pleasantly tight, reassuring and protective, and possessive.
Harry can’t help but be lost in those beautiful features. They have crossed 45 now. But don’t look a day older than 30. Draco’s long hair is now a richer platinum silver, It’s longer than he’s ever had it before. He also is prominently taller than Harry. His shoulders broad and firm, but still his figure, long and graceful, like a swimmer in his peak athletic form.  And as Draco’s features mature, Harry can see more of Narcissa in him than Lucius Malfoy. But if one truly asked Harry. Draco was only ever like himself. And no one could be like him.

He thinks about his Cupboard under the stairs, Hogwarts, the war all the way to finding Draco again. It’s so surreal, this whole journey that Harry cannot reckon with it’s magnitude. He can only be grateful for where it has brought him. To this morning, to this house, to this table, to this breakfast and to all the people having it. He closes his eyes for a moment. And takes a deep breath, then another, then another.

Once Harry’s overwhelming emotion passes, surprisingly unnoticed by even the ever-perceptive Lily, Draco slowly nods at him, signaling what they had been discussing for the past few months.
Harry realizes that it is the best time indeed, when it’s just them.

“Now that all three of you are here. There is something I wanted to tell you.” Harry says. Keeping his voice casual as he gets up blinking at Draco and walks to the study just a few feet away.
He brings back a beige envelope, putting one hand on James’ shoulder and handing him the Envelope with the other.

“What is it Dad?” James looks at him questioningly as Harry sits back on his chair.

“Open it” Harry urges him, seeing curiosity glowing in the eyes of his children.

James hesitates for a second, then pulls out his wand to tap the magical seal of the envelope.
 Pulling out the document inside to read what it is.

A moment or two passes, before James looks up at his father, eyes wide.

“Dad… This is… I don’t deserve this…”

“What is it?” Lily can hardly contain herself as she swipes her hand and then clutches at the air with it wandlessly and the parchment flies out of James’ slack hand into hers.

James’ eyes are filled with tears as he incredulously looks at his father.

“ Yes, you do deserve it. You are my first born. You are a good son and I know you are going to be good father and a good husband as well.”


“You are giving him this house?” Lily exclaims.

“He is?” Albus Exclaims, looking equally shocked.

“He cannot properly raise a Wizarding family at that posh little shoebox he has for an apartment in London now can he? A family needs a proper house, but more than that, it needs a loving home. And I hope you will turn this here house that my parents wanted to make their home into finally a loving home for your family. I hope June won’t mind.”

“Oh Dad! June adores this house! You know she does, which is why she wanted to have the wedding here!” Lily exclaims. But James is still looking at his father, as if he is a little boy once again, who is waiting for his Dad to pick him up and embrace all his hurt away.

“ I don’t…” he starts to say before he can’t bring himself to complete and just gets up from his chair into his father’s warm Embrace.

“I have been a horrid son, and I was so wrong and so vile…”

“Shhhhhh… no more of that you silly boy. You were foolish for a while and were punished accordingly. So none of that anymore.”

Harry looks at his other two children over, who are pretending to not tear up as well.

“Oh come now! James, you cry baby, I am the one who get’s Dad’s long hugs, not you!” Albus announces as he gets up from his seat and just comes behind Harry to hug him.

“I cannot believe we are doing a group hug this early in the morning.” Lily says, getting up from her place also and hugging James’ back. 

Harry smiles and hugs all his children tight, his head turning to look at Draco, who meets his eyes with a soft smile, and then deliberately twitches his nose in true Draco fashion, pretending to be disgusted by the overt show of emotion as any respectable Malfoy would. Harry just grins at him, before the floo ping is heard from the living room fireplace.

In the chaos of a wedding, Harry has little time to reminisce.
Draco is with him every step of the way, a reassurance to Harry and also to the kids if he is being honest.
But it’s surprisingly Ginny that comes through for the whole family.
The wedding goes without a hitch.
And the perfect day comes to a closing with George and his assistant putting up a frankly breath-taking fireworks show.
Harry is still seeing off some of the final guests when just as he is about to turn into the gate, a soft hand slips into his.
There is a familiarity there, he would know that soft hand and it’s size and softness anywhere. But with the realization a tinge of anxiety comes too. One which he cannot place.

“There goes our first chick flying” Ginny says softly, her cheek resting on Harry’s shoulder.
“More like, here comes our oldest chick to nest” Harry answers her playfully, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
“Such a beautiful day, James and June are so happy, our children and so happy, I am so happy…”
Harry does not understand where the conversation is going  so he lets go of the hand and turns toward her properly.
“…and the best part is that you are so happy…” she finishes her sentence.
Her eyes are filled with a smile and tears. It’s an expression, Harry has rarely seen on this face and for a moment, Harry does not know what he feels at that moment. So defensiveness is his first instinct, an instinct he strangles.
“I am happy. Very Very happy.” He says looking into her eyes seriously.
“I know, and I never thought that seeing you happy would make me happy too Harry. But now I know. I know how unkind I have been, for so many years. In so many ways. To both of us. You were right when you said that you never had a family so you would not know what a proper one would look like, but I did, so what was my excuse?”

“Ginny, no…I did not mean it that way…”Harry tries to say
“But you were absolutely right. I mean, you were a cheating arse-hole as well, but  I wanted to be your wife from the moment I laid eyes on you and recognized who you were.” She pauses, and Harry tries to say something, but her hand on his chest stops him, he realizes that she needs to say whatever it is she wants to say. She takes a deep breath, her hand correcting his Plum-coloured silk tie.
“I only came to this realization recently that I thought it was my right to be your everything. And so, I thought I deserved all your love and loyalty and heroism without ever stopping to think that I would also need to own all your trauma and your pain of loss and your loneliness. I saw it too, but I never tried to get into your heart. A part of me was too scared, too scared to really look inside you, because a part of me knew what it was like to be inside Voldemort’s memory, and you had lived with a part of him inside you for years, so I…”

“Ginny… it’s okay” he tried to interrupt her again, because the words that were coming out of her mouth were too revealing for him to process in the exhausted state of mind that he was in at that moment.

“No, it’s not okay. You tried to open up to me, but I didn’t let you. I was scared Harry, I loved you, I should have realized how broken and alone you were before I pasted and plastered all my hopes and dreams on you to make it look picture perfect. And I kept putting you through the wringer for falling short of my expectations. And lets not even talk about the whole Veela thing”

“That is sort of an unavoidable subject now really.”  Chimes in Draco’s low voice from behind Harry, making Ginny jolt a little in Harry’s arms.

Harry immediately recognizes the kind of scenario he is in, and what it must look like right now. He lets go of Ginny, who was holding on to his arms tightly.

“I am in no mood of stealing your mate Draco, I have a husband that I truly, genuinely love and who loves me back.”

“It’s not like you could, even if you tried.” Draco chuckles, but there is an edge in his voice that Harry recognizes, because, of course Harry does.

But Ginny rolls her eyes and steps away from Harry. She is pretty in her turquoise blue sheath dress. In the night lanterns her hair is aglow against the blue in the dress. Her bump is now starting to show. Draco’s breath against his ear is warmer than expected and his hand of Harry’s shoulder is tight and while Harry can’t look at him, he knows what the expression on that face would be.

“I am talking to the father of my children Malfoy, and I am trying to apologize for making him and myself miserable for all those years we pretended to be together. I would appreciate if you don’t get all territorial Veela with me right now.” She looks above Harry’s shoulder defiantly. Harry has to give it to her, no other could stand up to someone as imposing as Draco can be when he is in his element, exception being Ginny Weasely.
There is sudden twinge in Harry’s chest. But it’s not his own. He tries to send reassurance to Draco through their special connection, but something’s in the way.
For a split second, Harry is stumped at being shut out. The hand on his shoulder, loosens, and then he can feel Draco stepping away, retreating, Harry turns immediately, to follow, but Draco has already turned his back, and just fades into the evening shadows, soundlessly apparating away.
He turns back to see Ginny quiet satisfied with Draco’s retreat.
Which makes Harry angry and anxious, but he knows that Ginny did not mean it.
“You have a way of offending, even when apologizing…” Harry says with a sigh looking down. Worry burrowing in his gut.
“I am sorry Harry…” Ginny starts realizing that Harry is also not happy with the exchange that just happened. Harry puts up his hand as he steps away.
“This weirdly feels like a dejavu, at least to me. And the last time I let this happen, I lost him for twenty years… Twenty years that you are now apologizing to me for, and I have also apologized  to you for years now. When truly the person who deserves the ACTUAL apology Ginny is the one you just went territorial witch on.”

“He had no right to interfere…” she grows defensive again. If anything Harry can trust, is that Ginny, sister of many brothers will never admit her fault or mistake straightaway.
“I know it’s difficult to still wrap your head around it. But he has all the right to interfere Ginny, and your apology is meaningless until you genuinely come to that realization that he and I are not separate entities anymore. I am him, he is me.”
There is a deep silence for a moment between them.
“I need to go.” Harry breaks it a moment later.
“I just messed it up didn’t I?” Ginny says quietly as Harry turns away from her.
That makes Harry stop in his tracks. As he remembers that fateful day. That day that he had turned away from Draco. And what that led to.
“No, I messed up” he says and practically runs into the house from the lawn, all of him searching for Draco.

---

The Main entrance door at Spinner’s end is slightly ajar, even though there is no glow of light in any of the house’s sad windows.
Harry stands outside the small sad fence looking at the slightly ajar door.
He remembers coming here and standing right in this spot, observing the house, trying to know it’s secrets all those years ago when he was still looking for Draco. Trying to find a clue, a sign of Draco’s passing or presence there only to be disappointed and leaving endlessly frustrated.
This night, Harry can tell, that Draco is in there. But there is no song, no silencing spell.
Harry expected the song. He knows Draco was hurt by the interaction with Ginny. Hurt enough to leave immediately and close himself off from Harry too. The lack of song makes it difficult for Harry significantly to guage the state he might find the Veela in.
Reluctantly, Harry physically opens the rickety fence door, in his mind, he is giving Draco plenty of indication of his presence and approach.  Though he knows that the Veela is never unaware of his proximity, not with the kind of bond they share.

The small house is dark inside. But it’s not as pitch black as Harry was expecting it to be. The back of the house is also located on a street and the light from the street lamps are enough to cast shadows inside the house, but not make it welcoming.

The small entrance hall directly leads to the equally small sitting area that was functionally the living room of the house. Harry’s eyes are naturally drawn to the imposing portrait frame on top of the unlit fireplace, only to find it empty.

He was expecting Snape’s baritone to be welcoming him. As much as Severus was capable of welcoming anyone.

“Draco?” Harry says slowly, his eyes trying to adjust to the strange haze like shadows and filtering light the area is filled with,

“I am here.” Draco’s low voice reaches him from much closer than he was expecting.

Draco is sitting on the Rug in front of the dark, unlit fireplace. His head turned to look at the empty portrait frame too.

Harry feels like blood is rushing in his whole body with relief. He knew Draco was not in any danger, but still, the closing of the emotions had affected Harry more than he had realized.

Harry stands in his place. Staring at Draco as his eyes slowly make his brilliant silhouette in the shadows.
Somehow, Harry feels it would be a sacrilege to pierce this shadow with a source of light. This house, though clean and small, is most well-suited to its somber shadows.

Draco’s long legs are still draped in his well-tailored suit pants, sprawled on the floor, they are long and elegant, his shoes still shining in the shadowns, his tie has come lose as has his  shirt collar, though his waistcoat seems intact while his cuffs have been folded up.

As Harry slowly makes his way to Draco, he also removes his suit jacket and loosens up his tie. The Tie, Draco must have witnessed Ginny touching. And he cringes internally.

No wonder the Veela got upset enough to intervene. Harry is disappointed in himself for not realizing it sooner. The day had been so happy and emotionally high, Harry had not realized that all those High emotions and happiness and joy shared with family skewered his priorities and awareness.

Harry slides down on to the rug on the floor, next to Draco, close enough to surround Draco, but not close enough to be in the way if Draco wants to move away.

“ I am so embarrassed,” Draco says quietly after a moment of silence.
Harry expected anything but that to be the sentence that came out of Draco’s mouth.  Of all the things Harry was thinking about saying for the past 2 hours that it took to find Draco. He is truly non-plussed at how to reply to that.

“This was you and your family’s big day. I did not mean to throw a tantrum, but she just…” Draco’s whole body gathers on itself, as if he wants to protect himself from the memory of it too.

Harry wants to say a million things in answer, so he decides that letting Draco say his part would be the wisest course. Especially when Draco has closed off his emotions from him.

But Draco trembles next to him, gathering to himself even tighter and only a “I am really sorry” is all he utters.

Seeing Draco in this state makes Harry feel there is more to it. And it’s like a physical hurt almost, the tightness in Draco.

“I know, it’s going to sound like I am saying this to comfort you, but you know me better than that Draco.” Harry finally raises his hand and cups the back of Draco’s neck in a calming gesture. But the truth is, he also needs the touch to comfort himself before he continues.

“But you are MY Family. You are the most important family to me. You know this. As for the situation and you apologizing, I should be the one who apologizes.” He says slowly leaning his side against Draco, slowly increasing contact.

“I should have set a proper boundary between her and I, I cannot believe how stupid I was, after all these years, to not be cautious of such a stupid thing. You have been so brilliant through out, I should have been more attentive. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I realize what I have taken from you Harry. I know the sacrifice you have made for me. I know what you have given up for me.”  Draco says.  

“What? What are you even saying Draco?” Harry is even more confused now regarding what is going in this conversation and the turns it’s taking.

“You gave up your family, your life, your work, your friends… You gave up everything to come to me.”

“I did not give up anything Draco. I moved ahead. I lived while having all those things for more than 20 years of my life and none of it made me truly happy. You surely have not forgotten how lonely and miserable I was when you walked into my life again. But that is not what you are upset about is it? That is not why you are closing yourself off is it?”

Draco looks at him for the first time since Harry‘s been here. And there is a shift in his eyes. Harry has been waiting for this.

“I hate her. Passionately.”

Harry almost finds it amusing. The fire in Draco’s eyes.

“I will hate her always. I will hate her for all the years she had you and I did not. I hate her for… still having the sliver of a right to your attention because she is the mother of your children. I will hate her forever.”

“I deserve that hate equally. Draco” Harry says seriously.

“I know. And I hate you for it as well Potter. But I have many other emotions I feel for you. More important emotions. Her, I just plain hate”

Harry cannot help the chuckle that escapes him. He buries his face in Draco’s shoulder still chuckling and breathing him in. Harry almost has this realization on the daily, that Veela or no Veela, Draco and him belonged together. In every universe, in every  timeline, they were meant for each other. As if the fates had written them that way.

Draco turns his face closer to him.

“Damn you Potter, I am pouring my heart out to you and you are laughing.”

“I am sorry…” Harry says, laughing, “But I have missed this side of you for the past whole week, you have been such a goody-two-shoes. I love it when you hate me.” Harry says flirtatiously.

“I know! I have been bursting at the seams. I cannot imagine what Albus’ wedding would be like, with that idiotic woman for a mother-in-law.”

“I am sure you will handle her well, she seemed quiet enamoured with you.”

“I am a Veela, Potter. Enamouring is unavoidable.” Draco says sardonically. Making Harry smile even wider.

“With all due respect to my Majestic Veela, I am more enamoured by my plain old Malfoy. If I am honest.”

Draco chuckles too. Looking down, which Harry takes as a chance to kiss him just behind his ear, his favorite place.

Their connection softly opens finally. And there is so much tenderness and adoration coming through to Harry, it almost makes him catch his breath.

“I guess you are alright too, Potter.” He says softly. And it’s such a sweet and devastatingly beautiful declaration, it fills Harry’s heart to the brim.

“You deserve my whole world Draco. Before you, I was driftwood. Absolutely helpless and useless. And my ignorance made you suffer so much pain and desolation for so many years. But you rose above it all, you rose all on your own, and you saved me from the biggest Horror of my life that was staring me in the face, and you almost died doing it. And all of this you did for me even before I became yours. How could I ever, even start to pay reparations for all that you have done for me and all that you still do for me and all the harm I caused you.”

“The least you can do is stop that hag of an ex-wife of yours from hugging and hanging on to you.” Draco says looking at him at the end of Harry’s heartfelt confession.
“Yes… Yes I can do that. In fact, I WILL do that. You saved my entire existence by giving up your soul basically… I am sure I can deign to stop my ex-wife from swinging in my arms. Sure sounds like a fair trade-off.” Harry says equally sardonically.

“What is that word our daughter uses for enthusiastic declarations of affection?” Draco smiles at him. His eyebrow raised in a playful question.

“Anything other than REVOLTING would be a travesty”  Snape’s baritone chimes in from the portrait, almost jolting Harry out of their little back and forth.

The sour expression on Snape’s face snaps Harry into attention, making him realize that he is at this moment almost draped around Draco. He tries to move away indiscreetly but then realizes that he is not a teenager anymore and that a portrait should not be able to make him self-conscious about showing affection to his spouse.

“No, no…” Draco says thoughtfully and unaffected by Snape’s presence.
“ Disgusting?” Snape chimes in.
“No…”

“Nauseating?”
“No…”
Harry shakes his head at the exchange.
“Repulsive”
“No… not repulsive”
Harry cannot help but run a hand through his hair that have had enough of today out of annoyance.
“It’s “CRINGE” Malfoy, she says they are CRINGE” Harry finally answers for them both.
“Yes! Cringe!” says Draco finally out of his strange word finding reverie.
“Cringe-inducing… hmm… very succinctly put.” Snape says thoughtfully.
Harry rolls his eyes.
“Now that we have settled that. I am sorry Severus, we will not trespass upon your kindness any longer.” Harry says getting up.

“So is the journal there in Hogwarts?” Draco asks Severus getting up and straightening his cuffs.
“What journal?” Harry asks.
“Yes, it is, I will get it sent to you by special mail, day after tomorrow at the very latest. Thank you for ruining my weekend at home Draco.” Snape says coldly as he settles in his portrait.

“Wait, were you here on an errand?” Harry asks Draco. Who is now getting his tuxedo jacket back on while he walks out. His silver hair all alight in the light from the window.

“Oh, Yea, I thought of a solution while I was ... angry at your wife about Dora’s elf-ling. Just needed to confirm something from the archive at Hogwarts.”

Harry cannot help but be awestruck, exhausted, outraged and amused at the same time. So he just hangs his head down and shakes it.

“Why would you block me for so long then?” He asks as they walk out of the house and through the rickety front door, Harry following Draco in a daze.

“Well, initially, it was because I was hurt. The scene that happened there reminded me of that day at Wizengamot’s, the worst day of my life, and I did not want to project that on to you, because whenever that happens you feel guilty for days, which I can feel, you know. But then I had this epiphany about the elf-ling and you were feeling too complicated to let me concentrate, so I thought it better to let you find me…” He says turning around on a step, almost like he is dancing, and suddenly, Draco’s arms are around Harry’s waist, as if they truly are dancing.

“It made me sad and angry, but then I knew, that you were mine now. And even though I went through all that, I became what I am today. I was repaid for all that suffering, and I am a Malfoy, so I know how to make a good profit on all my assets.” Harry is mesmerized, lost in those silver eyes. Harry realizes that the way they are holding each other and looking at each other and feeling is like a scene straight out of a romantic movie.

“I became yours, You became mine. I became a healer and helped so many people, and all my suffering and knowledge gained, culminated in me being able to heal Lily when the time arrived...”

“You are really raking in that profit Malfoy.” Harry says his eyes also filled with pride.

“No, the real profit is how much you love me. When I feel it in my veins. When it pulses in my chest. I feel immortal, and indomitable, and invincible…” Draco’s eyes are filled with fire. His grip around Harry is tight, and Harry’s chest feels all too small for all that he is feeling and all that Draco is projecting.

“I love you.” Harry Whispers before Draco’s lips are on his in a deep, all-consuming, all-encompassing kiss that has the power to shatter all reality in Harry’s mind.

 

Later, much later, Harry is half asleep with Draco draped around him like a blanket in bed, when he remembers.
“Draco? What about Dora’s Elf-ling? And what journal was Snape talking about?”
"We can talk about it in the morning." Draco says softly.
"Tell me briefly at least, or I will keep thinking about it." Harry says.

Draco sighs as he gives in “Well, it occurred to me that all the sickness symptoms the Elf-ling was showing, sort of aligned with a human child suffering from Diabetes, so I was wondering if there could be a remedy that could work on an Elf-ling similar to a remedy that could work for a human baby.”

“That is very interesting. Is that even possible for Elfs? Their anatomy I am sure is much different than Humans.”

“Which is why I asked Snape for Turner’s journal that is in Hogwarts’ archive. It explains the anatomy of House Elves and how they are different from humans and in what ways they are the same.”

“I am sure Hermoine would love to help you.”

“Yes, I will talk to her once I have the journal in hand. Now go to sleep, you are exhausted.”

“So are you…” Harry chimes in turning to face his mate.

“You know that is not true.” Draco says, his voice and eyes are heavy with meaning.

Harry chuckles to himself helplessly. He really has no strength left. Draco’s hand softly touches his eyelids as if closing them.

“ I am so proud of you Draco. You are so good…” Harry mumbles.

“And you are better than all my dreams could dare to imagine.” Is the last whisper Harry hears from Draco’s lips, before he slips into the welcoming arms of deep sleep.

Draco watches him quietly, give in to sleep. Even now, after all these years, Draco feels a pinch in his soul whenever Harry falls asleep because he feels like he has handed off his most precious thing to the hands of a stranger. It’s silly, but that is what it feels like.

 

In the dim room, saturated with their scents, the whole day rewinds like a film in Draco’s mind and the realization overwhelms him.

This really is his happily ever after.

He never even in his wildest dreams had imagined being here, in this moment, with Harry in his arms and devoted to him so completely.
The moment in the garden with Ginny had reminded him of the past. But it had also reassured him of his future.

He sacrificed himself for Harry and Lily and it took him years to fully return. But he never imagined he could be so one with the being inside him. And how fulfilling it could be to have their chosen-one to themselves.

“Justified. Accomplished.” Echoes a memory in his head from what seems now, like another life or perhaps a dream. A painful dream. A sunrise of doom. A doom he welcomed with open arms at the time. And pain, so much pain.

But if it were not for all that pain, could he have still had what he has today?

Draco will often wonder about that for the rest of his days.

But one thing he knows for sure.

It does not matter if the pain was necessary or not.

His glory will forever remain, his own.

And that is something… isn’t it?

 

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