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55Chapter 11: ADAIG 5: Family

As Dark as It Gets, part five: Family

Harry's hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the paper on the floor. With his head spinning and his heart pounding so hard it hurt, almost as if it was pounding directly and mercilessly against his ribcage, he lifted his gaze to look at the boy. "How could this happen? How could … Percy? He's always been this … this model student and later even model employee at the Ministry for Magic—I mean, he always spoke so proudly and superciliously of his duties, and of his employer. He was a real pain in the arse about it, but he was never evil."

The blonde boy studied him with an enigmatic look in his bright, green eyes, and in them Harry perceived a maturity and an awareness of the cruelties of the world that seemed to be too much for someone so young. That degree of awareness should be beyond him, and the fact that Harry recognised himself in this boy made his heart swell with sorrow.

"I am uncertain of just how much I ought to tell you about this," the boy said hesitantly. "I am merely figuring as a messenger, and the person who sent me only told me to give you the newspaper."

"But who are you? And who sent you?" Harry asked, confused by this new twist of events.

The boy hesitated anew. "I am not supposed to tell you that."

Harry decided to be bold and acted on a whim that might throw him into even darker waters and further fuel his confusion. But he had to trust his instincts, because if he was confined to just his five senses, he did not know how long he would survive locked in that house. Taking a step towards the blond boy, he said, "But you are Tom's brother, aren't you? That's how you knew where to find him. That's how you were able to prevent him from killing me. You're my … son."

Instead of answering, the boy closed his eyes and lowered his shut gaze. "She is calling me back. I have to leave now. Forgive me." Just like Tom had done earlier that evening, the boy uttered a strange spell and a disc appeared behind him. Only this time it was not entirely transparent; Harry could see parts of the world that the boy was about to step into, including the hint of a young woman with long, silky black hair. A second later, it was all gone.

Harry sank down to the floor.

He was alone again, and even though he had been alone for the better part of ten years of his life, he had never quite felt alone—at least not this strongly.

"I miss you, Draco. You'd better come back to me alive, because I can't go through all that pain and frustration following your amnesia again. I can't go through that again. Come back to me, Draco. Please."

It was already getting dark, but it seemed way too early for late July. The sky was turning an ominous purple with heavy storm clouds forming above the trees. Shadows were chasing around their legs as Tom shifted his illuminating wand from one hand to the other.

They were walking through a thick forest, and for some reason, Draco could feel snow under his feet; he could feel the cold air of winter brush against his cheek and pour into his lungs. For a moment, he could even see a puff of hot breath form a tiny cloud in front of him as it left his mouth. Why did he have the feeling that he had been there before?

"Where are you taking me?" he inquired as Tom led him deeper into the forest. He knew that Tom would never kill him since he was actually carrying him inside his stomach at that very moment—he would automatically be killing himself. Still, Draco felt as if he was being led to his own execution.

Tom would not say anything, but simply pushed Draco a little harder in front of him. The tip of his wand poked into the small of Draco's back. They came to a clearing in the middle of the forest, and suddenly Draco knew exactly where they were.

A scream in the night. Darkness, cold, the forest. Witches and wizards fleeing in a panic in every direction. A Muggle family hovering high up in the air; the conjuring of the Dark Mark with none other than Harry Potter's wand.

The World Quidditch Cup four years ago, right before they started their fourth year at Hogwarts. They were back in the forest where Harry, Ron, and Hermione had happened to run past him, and he had seized the golden opportunity to mock them. Something sharp pierced his heart when he recalled how he had told Hermione that the Death Eaters would seek her out because she was a Muggleborn. Now she was dead, and indirectly that was his fault.

Unconsciously, he put a hand on his stomach.

A monster. He was carrying a monster. He remembered all too well what Tom had said about his 'friend': "He impersonated me to save his own arse and make the Forgettes believe that I was the one who killed the Minister." The Minister for Magic? And Draco knew how it must be. There was no friend—only Tom. His spawn had killed the Minister for Magic, and now he was going to take He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's place as the leader of the Death Eaters.

But why was he remembering snow? Why was he freezing so bloody much? The Quidditch World Cup had taken place in early summer, had it not? So why was he remembering snow?

Tom was poking him in the back again. "Dad, why have you stopped?" he wondered warily. "We need to move if we're going to make it in time."

Draco blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Stopped. Why have you stopped?" Tom looked down at the hand that Draco was holding over his stomach. "Everything all right? Are you having complications?"

Draco frowned. "What? Oh, that. No, no, I'm fine, I just … remembered something."

"Quidditch Cup, eh? Yeah, I know some strange things happened that night, read all about it in the papers when I was researching your life. But there was something even more important happening in this forest, a few years back …"

"What? What happened?" Draco felt a sudden urge to grab Tom's collar and shake the answer out of him. The snow was under his feet again. The cold air …

Tom smirked. "Father figured it all out eventually, didn't he?"

"You talking about Harry now?"

"You're a quick study, Dad. I'm glad."

"Why do you hate him?" Draco asked.

Tom seemed to be taken aback by his question. "What d'you mean?"

"Why do you hate Harry so much? It is all there in your voice when you talk about him, and I can see it burning in your eyes. It's consuming you, Tom. Why do you hate him when he's the one who loves you unconditionally, despite everything you have done? Why don't you hate me when I'm unable to love you even though you're my own son? Why do you hate him when he's the one trying to convince me to keep you, when he's the one who wants you to live? Tell me, Tom, because I don't understand. I just don't understand why I can't love you."

Tears blurred his vision.

Tom stared at him with an expression of utter bewilderment, obviously at a loss for words. Draco wished he would just say something—anything—that would prove that he had a warm heart worth loving, because Draco desperately wanted to feel what he had seen in Harry's eyes only an hour earlier. The thought of terminating the pregnancy had never crossed Harry's mind, not even when Tom tried to kill him. There had to be a reason why Harry loved him if he could forgive him for something like that, because Harry did not just love anyone; you had to earn Harry's love.

Suddenly weak-kneed, Draco sank down on the dirty ground—snow, cold hands that longed for mittens, hot breath in puffs of white smoke, stray limbs between the trees, blood on his shirt—with eyes still fixed on the dark-haired man who was a combination of him and Harry.

Tears now streaming down his face, Draco cried out, "Why can't I love you? I keep protecting you, I keep saying things that make it clear to other people that I want this, that I want you, but why can't I love you? It's just an instinct, a primitive bloody maternal instinct … Technically, I'm your mother, but all I can feel for you is hatred. Not Harry, though. Harry loves you despite the fact that you almost killed him. He doesn't care that you hate him, Tom. He sees something good in you that I can't see, and it depresses me. I can't see anything good in my own child—I'm pathetic. I'm a failure, that's why you turned on us, right? I failed in being your father, that's why you turned to You-Know-Who, isn't it?"

"NO!" Tom's sudden outburst made Draco jump. "No! You never failed! You were always the perfect parent, Dad. You were always there for me—you both were. In fact, you were kind of neurotic about us kids, and Harry was always the one to calm you down. You worried too much about us, Dad."

Draco snivelled. " 'Us?'"

"Did you think I was the only one? You guys had way too much love to settle for just one child."

"Then what went wrong, Tom? Explain it to me, because I don't understand."

Tom knelt before him, and for the first time since he had fallen through the wall in their bathroom, he actually showed signs of humanity. He even took Draco's shaking hand in both of his. "He made you waste away a significant heritage. Made you forget that you were a Malfoy and forced you to live in his shadow—the spouse of The Boy Who Lived. Don't you understand what a privilege that is? Being a Malfoy? But Harry made you repress who you really are and turned you into a wussy nancy boy who just had his children. He turned you into a woman, Dad, and that is a disgrace to our name."

Draco was firmly shaking his head. "No, this is who I really am, Tom—this is who I have always been. Harry brought that out in me. He made me realise that I'm okay as I am. I don't need to pretend when I'm around him. All those years I wasted trying to live up to my name and my father's reputation—that was an act! That wasn't me, Tom. I thought my father was leading a respectful life, but he turned out to be a simple murderer, an evil man, and I hated him for deceiving me like that, for tricking me into becoming like him.

"I don't want to be a Malfoy if that's what it means to live up to the family name. I don't want to be a cold-blooded murderer. Harry opened my eyes to the world, Tom, and I am incredibly grateful for that. There is no honour in carrying on the Malfoy traditions—I would rather be a Potter. If you see me as a wussy nancy boy, then I'm sorry for you." He got up from the cold ground. "You still have a chance to change your mind, Tom. You don't have to do this. You can return to the future and let Harry and me do our jobs."

Tom violently shook his head. "No." He walked past Draco.

Draco turned to look after him. "Why did we name you Tom?"

The dark-haired man stopped dead in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"Your name. Why Tom? I've never been particularly fond of that name."

After a moment's silence, Tom said: "It was a cry for help."

Draco opened his mouth to ask him what he meant when a bright orange-red light lit up the clearing—and suddenly the forest had disappeared around them. For a moment, Draco could see three small children running around a dimly lit study, all three of them laughing happily, but the next second their surroundings had changed to a familiar corner of Diagon Alley, and there were other people around.

Somewhat dazed, Draco realised that Tom must have used a time portal to move them there. Glancing around him, Draco spotted a dark figure amongst the witches and wizards in the crowd, and for some reason it sent shivers down his spine. The dark figure stepped into the spotlight, so to speak, and lifted its hood to reveal itself.

It was that Weasley bloke, Ron's older brother, the Perfect Prefect.

Draco frowned. What was this? Some sort of joke? Had not they come to stop the new Dark Lord from claiming his 'rightful' place on the food chain? So, why were they all staring at Weasley? He could not be of any interest to Tom—could he?

But then Weasley rose from the ground and hovered approximately twenty feet above them. He stretched out his arms at his sides and a bright yellow-white light erupted from the palms of his hands, lighting up the all-too-dark July night. His hair floated in the air above his head as if he was full of static energy. Not willing to realise what this must mean, Draco turned to Tom for guidance.

The expression on Tom's face was one of utmost defeat. "We were too late. Shouldn't have taken that detour through the forest … but I just wanted to remind you who you are, and I was hoping … Anyway, it has already been done. My master has taken his place. There is no turning back time now."

Draco blinked. "What—'your master?' But Weasley can't possibly …"

"Listen up, you fools for witches and wizards!" Weasley's deep voice was suddenly hollering. "You have probably all heard of the Dark Lord's death by now, and you have probably celebrated his demise ever since you learnt of it, and that is why I have summoned you here tonight. You are important people in the magic community. Ministry employees, Healers, reporters, scientists, Aurors … I welcome you. You probably know me as Percy Weasley—"

Draco snorted; did he really think that the entire magic community knew him just because he did some paper work for the Ministry?

"—important employee at the Ministry of Magic, but from now on you may call me Lord Pywercaseley. That's right—I'm taking Voldemort's place as the leader of the Death Eaters, and I can promise you that I won't be as gentle as he was! From now on, you will see many changes around here, and we won't stop here, either. I have gathered followers all over the world. Within ten years I will have made this planet mine, and you will all be my slaves! Any questions? Didn't think so."

Without another word, he vanished and left only a stale smell behind.

Draco could not believe it. Percy Weasley—the new Dark Lord? Had the entire world gone bonkers overnight? And what was with that 'Lord Pywercaseley' bullshit? Was that really the best name he could come up with? At least Tom Marvolo Riddle had been imaginative …

Suddenly, it hit him. "Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort. All your studies, your demented dreams … You took his name."

Tom was regarding him with silent resignation. "So, you finally figured that out?"

"Yes, that part, but I still don't understand why."

"Maybe you will one day," Tom said melancholically.

"What? You're leaving us?" For some reason, Draco was not so keen on getting rid of him anymore. He felt as if he was finally receiving some of those answers he had requested, and they were precisely the ones he had wanted.

With a stern expression on his face, Tom took Draco's hand in his and began to transport them somewhere else.

Panicking, Draco yelled: "Hey! Where are you taking me?"

A sad smile came to Tom's face. "Don't worry. I won't do anything to risk the existence of mini-me inside of you. Although, it would make things easier … I wouldn't have to go through all this … Maybe I would just float off into oblivion, a foetus never born. But I guess there is still time for redemption."

"Redemption? What are you talking about?"

But no answer came, only orange-red light.

After many hours of frantic searching, he finally found it. An anti-pregnancy potion. He was sure that there were easier and less painful methods of inducing a miscarriage in the Muggle world, but he could not take Draco to a regular hospital. If a pregnant boy showed up demanding an abortion they were sure to make him their favourite guinea pig for fertility research … And how the bloody Hell would they explain how he got pregnant in the first place, anyway?

The Healers at St Mungo's could probably have helped them, but they knew nothing of Piper's Priberty Potion; they thought she had only developed the potion for women that they had contracted her to concoct for them. Draco's pregnancy would most certainly blow up to the most amazing story of the year—not counting the rise of the new Dark Lord, of course. They would never have any privacy anymore, not as The Boy Who Lived Twice and The Boy Who Gave Birth. They would be beyond famous.

This potion was Draco's only hope—and it pained Harry that his lover was so determined to go through with it.

He anxiously glanced at the clock on the wall.

They had been gone for almost four hours now, and there had been no more visits from the blond boy. He had been hoping to get another chance to ask him whether or not he was Tom's brother. Because if he was … he and Draco were destined to have more children, not just this one son. It was amazing to think that their love for each other was going to result in the birth of other living creatures … Children created from their love.

"Dammit, Dracums, where are you?"

Luckily, they had all the ingredients for the potion in store, so he could easily brew it. It took only 80 minutes, and as soon as it was finished he poured some into a small bottle for Draco. Agitated and restless, he spent the rest of the night pacing the parlour, because that was where he had last seen Draco; were his lover to return, Harry was sure that he would return to that same spot. He walked to and fro for hours until his legs felt like jelly and he had to sit down.

Exhausted from worrying so much, he fell asleep at early dawn.

Something brushed against his cheek. He wrinkled up his face and stubbornly turned the other way. He was dreaming that he was taking the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron in London.

"Harry? Harry, are you awake?"

"Go away, I only have one block left."

"Harry, wake up." Someone shook him lightly, and when he began to rise from the depths of sleep and recognised the soft voice speaking to him, he instantly opened his eyes and swirled around.

Draco was kneeling beside him, a wonderful, beautiful smile on his pale face. Harry swiftly threw his arms around him. "You're here! You're not a dream!"

Draco laughed. "No, I'm real alright."

Harry kissed him. "You can't imagine how much I've missed you, Dracums. But how did you get in?"

"I got reinforcements."

Harry frowned and looked over Draco's shoulder.

Piper came out of the den with her mouth full of carrot. "Don't you have any peppers around here? I wanted to make a veggie omelette for breakfast."

Draco sighed irritably. "Can't you use anything else than peppers? We have tomatoes."

"Sick of 'em."

"Cucumber?"

"In an omelette? What—are you mental?"

"Maybe I am, I went to you for help, didn't I?"

"Love you too, bro."

"Shut it."

Harry laughed, and shook his head in amused resignation. "You know, it's actually kind of nice to hear the two of you rowing again. I missed that. It's been so quiet around here since you left, Piper."

She pointed at him with the tip of her carrot. "Won't be anymore."

"Oh, please, spare me," Draco sighed, and massaged his right temple.

Harry tenderly caressed his cheek. "How did you get away from Tom?"

"I didn't—he's coming over here later."

"So, you made up, then?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Did you get your answer?"

A deep silence followed. The blonde looked stricken for a while. "Answer?"

Harry drew him into his arms and made him sit on his lap. "I sort of tuned in to your ambiguity. I know you've been fighting some really nasty demons since you found out you're pregnant, wondering why you couldn't love Tom. I've seen it in your eyes, and I've been trying to help you."

Draco had tears in his eyes. "You … you noticed that?"

"Of course I did, silly. I feel whatever you feel, I see whatever you see, and I hear all your thoughts as if they were my own. I probably know you better than I know myself. So, tell me: Did you get your answer?"

"I … Yes. I believe I just did."

"Then you should listen to it, Dracums. Do whatever you feel is right. Oh, almost forgot. Here's your potion." Harry gave him the small bottle.

Draco regarded it with obvious dread. He put a hand on his belly. But then he nodded and pocketed the potion. He knew what he had to do—later.

Piper kept making annoying chewing noises over in her corner.

Harry wondered what they were waiting for. The restlessness returning to him, he got up from the armchair and started to pace the floor once more. Draco watched him with eerily glowing eyes. As Harry made a turn to walk back to the armchair, Tom appeared in front of him. Harry gave a surprised shriek.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Don't swallow your tongue, father."

Draco sat up straight and immediately fell into the role of the worried parent without even noticing it himself. "You! Where have you been? You should've been on my tail long ago!"

Tom dismissively waved a hand at him. "Don't worry about me, Dad, I'm fine. Just needed to swallow my pride and gather enough courage to come back here."

Harry snorted. "Courage? You need courage to come here now? As I understand it, this was your home for the better part of your life."

"You don't need to get snotty with me, father, I got enough of that growing up. Yes, I needed courage—courage to confront you and to embrace my destiny."

Harry knitted his eyebrows. "Confront me? About what?"

To his surprise, Tom was shaking. "Why, father? Why didn't you see me if you loved me as much as Dad claims? Why didn't you ever make an effort to show me that?"

Harry was completely taken aback. "What are you talking about? Of course I love you, Tom, I love you more than I even understand myself because I haven't even got to know you yet, and certainly I must've seen you."

"No, you never saw me!"

"I see you now."

"You never saw me! ME! You only saw your father, and I could never live up to your expectations. You wanted me to be just like the father you lost and never knew, and in doing so you took my father away from me. The only thing I had was the knowledge and the privilege of being a Malfoy—you drove me to this! Now take the consequences!"

All of a sudden, Tom had withdrawn his wand from his jeans pocket and directed the agonising Cruciatus Curse at Harry.

Harry fell to the floor, thrashing in pain, screaming at the top of his lungs. Through the hazy barrier of tears, he could see Piper sitting on the edge of her seat, her carrot half-way to her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the scene, and he noticed that Draco had risen to his feet. Although the pain was excruciating, Harry forced himself to take control of his body and call out to his lover. "The potion! Draco, take the potion! NOW!"

Draco was staring at them with eyes wide-open in fear and indecision. He looked at Harry thrashing on the floor, tears silently streaming down his pallid face, and his lower lip started to tremble. Then he looked at Tom, whose face was so contorted with wrath that he looked like the Devil himself, and his grey eyes darkened with agony. Then all of a sudden, he let out a scream of pain and bent forward, holding his hands to his stomach. His face was a grimace of pain not quite unlike Harry's, and he fell down to his knees, his breath caught in his lungs. "What's happening?" he whispered. "My stomach … the baby … the baby …"

Harry was on the verge of losing consciousness, and all he could think about was Draco's pain, the same pain that he had had the day they went to see Dumbledore at the Order's headquarters. "Potion … the potion …"

An oily blackness soiled the edges of his vision, but he fought it stubbornly; he could not lose consciousness now! He would die if he lost consciousness now. But the pain … oh, God, the pain …

Draco managed to take the bottle out of his pocket, but his hand was shaking so much he almost could not bring it up to his mouth. Still in pain, he screwed off the cork and put the bottle to his lips, but just when he was about to drink it he stopped dead and met Harry's gaze. "I can't do it," he whimpered. "Forgive me, Harry, but I can't do it."

The bottle fell out of his hand and smashed on the floor, a million smithereens littering the wood. Harry felt his hope sinking; he was going to die. There was no saving him this time, not with Draco paralysed by fear and ambiguous love and a Piper who was loath to interfere with destiny.

But then something most peculiar happened. Draco's face cracked open in a strange and very scary smile; he looked positively deranged. Taking his other hand out of his pocket, he determinedly raised his wand. "But I can't let you kill my Harry, either. I-I'm sorry, Tom. I do love you, but I can't … I can't let you kill him. A … Avada Kedavra!"

For a second, everything seemed to be frozen, but ultimately Harry became aware of the green light dissolving and Draco's wand falling to the floor with a hollow sound, followed by the blonde himself.

Neither of them was prepared for the whistle, but when it sounded, Harry was quick to summon Piper for assistance. The nine months that had passed since Draco killed Tom had been hectic and straining for them both, mostly because of Draco's inevitable and unpredictable mood swings and his being overly sensitive.

The first six weeks, Draco had been extremely depressed and blamed himself for everything that had happened. At first, he did not speak at all, and when he finally did, all he could say was, "I killed my son." But eventually he snapped out of it and went back to being his usual self—with a few 'improvements' because of the pregnancy, of course. But despite all that, everything worked out fine in the end, and Harry loved him a little more for every stupid thing he did.

A few months into the pregnancy, Draco had begun to speak of Tom again, something which he had been extremely reluctant to do before that. He had obviously given it a whole lot of thought, because he had many answers that Harry had totally missed in the big picture. One day, he came into the parlour where Harry was currently reading the Prophet to get the news on 'Lord Pywercaseley' and his activities, walking with some effort because of all the extra weight he was carrying. "Harry, do you remember when I got that pain in my stomach?"

Harry looked up from the paper. "You mean when To— I mean, when we were going to talk to Dumbledore?"

Draco sat down in his lap. "It's okay, you can say his name. I figured it out. I think I hurt whenever he did something evil. It was as if all that evil energy was transmitted to the baby, as well, but the baby was too young to handle it—therefore, we were in pain."

Harry blinked. "You know, that actually makes sense, Dracums."

"I know—I'm brilliant. I don't know what Tom was up to when we were in London, but that morning when he tried to kill you and that mysterious lad saved you … I was standing in the shower when suddenly my stomach started to hurt like Hell, and I got scared so I went to look for you as soon as it passed. But I've never experienced the kind of pain that I was in when he used the Cruciatus Curse on you … It was awful. Beyond awful. I never want to feel that pain again."

Harry kissed the right side of the blonde's head. "You won't, baby."

And now it was time.

With a little improvisation, Piper delivered the baby boy from the synthetic womb that her potion had created inside Draco's abdomen by help of a series of complicated spells and yet another potion. When the boy gave his first cry in this world, Harry's heart skipped a beat or two and swelled with unconditional love. He could not take his eyes off the perfect, beautiful little creature as Piper placed him in Draco's arms.

The smile on Draco's face was worth all the gold in the world. "Hello," Draco said, and happiness shone in his silver eyes. But then his smile faded and worried wrinkles searched their way onto his young forehead. "I don't want to name him Tom," he said darkly.

Piper settled down on his right side; Harry was sitting real close on his left side. "You don't have to," she said soberly. "Changing his name is the first step towards changing the future."

"Changing the future?" Harry echoed. "But I thought it was impossible to change what has already been done? Hermione always said—"

"Oh, Hermione this and Hermione that! What did Hermione really know about time travelling and the time continuum? She had—what?—approximately a year of experience? Everything is changeable—that's why time travelling is so dangerous! You have twenty-one years to figure out what you did wrong and what to do differently, so don't worry."

"I guess you're right," Draco sighed. He looked at the sleeping boy in his arms. "I don't want him to be a Malfoy, either."

Piper snorted. "Who would?"

Draco gave her a condemning look.

They were all silent for a long while, all of them silently contemplating what were to come and what was to be expected. Harry wondered if they had taken on too big of a job, straightening out the lost boy that they had met just nine months ago. Then he thought of the blond boy and the hint of long black hair he had seen right before the boy vanished, and a smile came to his face. No, this was just as it should be. A family.

They were a family.

"So, what should we call him, then?" Draco asked.

Something hit Harry. It seemed so perfect.

"How about James?"