Chapter Text
(Otherwise known as the Epilogue)
Draco was very likely drunk. He really couldn't remember how many drinks he had that evening, but it being his bachelor party and all, his own personal rules of conduct had been relaxed somewhat. Potter stood in the corner of the pub on a raised platform, singing into a small microphone that was thankfully not turned on. Karaoke was not Draco's idea of entertainment. If he wanted to hear someone singing badly, he would just listen to his father when he took a shower in the morning. His head spun as Potter executed a daring and somewhat ridiculous dive off the stage. It would have been effective if anyone had paid attention and caught the Auror.
"Fuck," Potter said from the floor in exaggerated consternation.
Longbottom hit Draco's shoulder. Hard. Draco winced as the lout bellowed. "Harry shaid a bad word! Can't believe it. He'sh a Shaint. An angry one, but a shaint."
Longbottom let his face fall to the table as he was overcome by a fit of giggling. Draco merely sneered at the prat. Who was the addicted one here, anyway? Draco opened his eyes a little owlishly to find Blaise in the crowd. He waved the dark wizard over. Zabini, ever debonair and in control, tripped as he came to the table, spilling his drink over Longbottom's neck. Longbottom howled with laughter and said something incomprehensible in what Draco thought might be English. Potter joined the group, his face still red on one side from his impact with the floor.
Before Draco could say what he needed to say, Potter hugged him. "Ferret, you know, you're all right. I never thought I would EVER say that, but you are. Death Eater. Ferret. Friend. Slytherin."
Zabini cried, “Hear, hear." and downed what was left of his whiskey. No wizarding drinks tonight. The Muggle pub they were in, did not allow outside alcohol. Draco felt his lips pull into the sappy grimace that he always wore when inebriated.
Potter leant closer to Draco and peered into his eyes. "You're pissed."
"You're King of Pissed, Potty." Blaise shouted then immediately straightened his Muggle togs and sat. "Sit down. They're looking. The Muggles."
Potter peered around the room one eye closed. "I'll 'bliviate them all."
Zabini pulled Potter down in the bench next to him. "Please, Saint Potty. You've never done anything even slightly shady."
"Have so. Haven't I Malfoy?" Potter's green eyes met Draco's grey. "In my sixth year, I used Sectumsempra on our groom here, didn't I? Split him wide open."
Longbottom giggled and lifted his head. "No, you didn't."
Draco looked away. Trust Potter to bring up the bad old days tonight. "Drop it, Potter."
"No." The Auror hiccoughed. "I never 'pologised for that. I didn't mean to do it, but I hurt you. Felt bad for years about it." Potter's eyes glistened suspiciously, as he added morosely, "Still do."
"If we're going to start apologising for all our youthful transgressions, then I should tell you how much I wanted the Weaslette when I was in school." Blaise interrupted. "She was hot."
Potter choked on his drink, and then retorted, "Pansy got enough wanking action in Gryffindor, right Neville?"
The Herbology Professor snorted. "She surely did. Harry was head wanker of her club."
"That's disgusting." Draco rose.
Blaise began, "Then you should know that Draco was King Wanker of the Granger cl..."
Draco shoved a hand over his friend's mouth. "Potter, Zabini, let sleeping dogs lie. Now, I've got to rise early tomorrow. I'm getting married. Can someone help me get home?"
He promptly sank to his knees. “Bloody hell, I hate Muggle grog.”
&*&*&
Liz spent the evening being fitted for her wedding gown for what seemed like the thousandth time. Molly Weasley, Ginny Potter, Hermione Weasley, Andromeda Tonks and Bertie Cowell all looked at her critically as she descended the stairs for hopefully the last time. Ginny had designed the dress and Molly had sewn it. As with the formal dress the two witches had made for her at Yule, the white wedding gown was perfect, except for the little problem that had cropped up around four months ago, after Draco had been released from prison.
Liz let her hand drift to the soft mound under her dress. She had not told Draco she was pregnant and had played off her weight gain as if she were eating more due to wedding jitters. The only person who suspected was her father-in-law who had stared at her midsection the entire afternoon after Mass last Sunday, his gaze frosty. Liz gave a small pat to her belly and said, "I suppose I'll have to eat less after the wedding. I don't want to get fat."
The other women exchanged looks. Molly Weasley finally said, "Dear, should you be dieting in your condition?"
"What condition?" Liz countered, innocently.
"Well, you're pregnant, aren't you? Bertie said..." Molly looked around for support.
Liz's answering smile was all the group of women needed to burst into tearful congratulatory hugs. Bertie stood back, beaming with pride at her daughter. Liz drew her mother to the group and Bertie sobbed. "I never could fool you, Mum."
"Oi!" George Weasley yelled from the parlour where the Wizarding Wireless blared a Quidditch match. "There's a match going on in here. People are trying to listen."
Hermione extracted herself from the group and Liz heard a sharp smack and then good-natured bickering from both parties.
&*&*&
Lucius had watched the evening's rehearsal for tomorrow’s wedding with mixed emotions. His only son was getting married and Lucius was gaining a family, a mixed family with its incumbent confusion and problems. He had noted the speculative way Bertie Cowell had looked at him throughout the fiasco that evening. Lucius repressed a shudder. Lucius had never tupped a Muggle and never would as far as he was concerned. He would let that be Draco’s kink, thank you very much.
He watched the three boys, his two grandsons and Teddy Lupin, playing with the Muggle toy cars that Ian Cavanaugh had found for them from the lost and found box in the church. The older boys seemed to be treating Scorpius well, so Lucius had no reason to worry about childish tears and hurt feelings. He resumed his assigned reading for the day.
Father Cavanaugh would have made a wonderful Death Eater. Instead of administering Crucio and Imperius curses, he would have used the collected writings of Marcus Aurelius and St. Augustine to torture unsuspecting souls. Dante’s Inferno could be used as the Catholic equivalent of the Avada Kedavra.
Lucius turned his eyes to the text, a dry and ponderous volume of the Catholic propaganda The Lives of Saints. He wondered when the two older women would arrive to pick up Lupin and Cowell. He hoped soon, and that it was only the older Cowell woman. He did not relish a repeat of his first meeting with Andromeda Tonks. It had been almost thirty years since he had seen her. When they had met in the rectory before the rehearsal, Lucius knew she ached to curse him. Her hand had held a wand and he could feel the magical energy crackling around her like ozone. The only words she had spoken to him had been a warning. “Treat my grandson well Malfoy, or I will know about it.”
Lucius had graced her with a sickly smile in response but had given a dutiful bow. Ian Cavanaugh had rescued him from further embarrassment by escorting his former sister-in-law into the church proper and showing her the wonders of the Stations of the Cross and the one, tatty relic housed there.
Lucius let his gaze fall once more to the soft waves of his grandson’s head. He was quite a handsome boy, as were all Malfoys, but with an exotic tilt to his eyes and a somewhat broader nose than his purely Patrician father. The boy’s green eyes sought his expectantly as he dropped the car he held and stood. “G-pa. Hold me.”
Lucius set his book aside, splaying it typeface down to hold his place. The boy raised his hands and Lucius scooped him in his arms, making sure to prop him in his good arm. The boy smelled of maple syrup and dirty little boy. “You will need a bath soon.”
“G-pa, where have you been since I was borned?” Lucius was saved an answer by a knock on the rectory door. He put the boy down with a pat on his chubby bottom and went to the entryway.
Ian poked his head out of his study. “If it’s for me, send them in.”
Lucius resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Who else would be visiting at eight in the evening, but one of the masses of Muggle flesh that inhabited this level of hell? Besides the fact that Lucius was no longer sought out for his expertise, wealth or position, being a former inmate of Azkaban and all. He opened the door and was pleasantly surprised by the sight of Dr Patil.
“Hallo,” she stated. “I was in the area, and thought I’d check on my star patient.”
Lucius paused, letting his gaze float down her body. She was wearing a soft, worn cotton sari of pale gold. Fascinating hints of flesh flashed at her waist and Lucius’ breath came in short huffs before he cleared his throat and his mind. “Please, do come in.”
&*&*&
The flat was empty and would be for the long lonely night. Draco had come to rely on Liz in ways he had not categorised until she was absent. Zabini, Potter and Longbottom made their drunken apologies at the door after giving the man of the hour a final send off gift of Hangover Cure. Draco palmed the bottle and went to his empty bed in his empty flat. Tomorrow, he would never be alone again. He would be married in the eyes of the Church and God. He chuckled. It would be just in time if he could judge by Liz’s recently increasing waistline. Draco decided he wanted a girl this time. It would be fun to spoil her to a properly rotten state.
&*&*&
Narcissa slept fitfully at her latest lover’s side. She had paid well for him so he had no complaints whether he got a full night’s sleep or not. She woke, thinking of her only child and his impending nuptials. She wished him well from New York and then roused the boy in her bed for some much-needed recreation. As long as he did not speak, she could pretend he was someone more refined, handsome and fairer.
&*&*&
“You were in the area?” Lucius asked doubtfully. “I was under the impression you lived in S-surrey.”
Mona Lisa blushed. “I do some charity work in London. Three nights a week. I see patients who don’t qualify for National Healthcare. Mostly new immigrants and illegals.”
Lucius took Mona Lisa’s elbow and escorted her to the drawing room. The boys looked up from their play but turned away in disinterest. “I d-do believe this is the first time I’ve seen you out of your lab coat and scrubs. You look... lovely.”
The doctor blushed. “You seem to have settled into your new life well.”
“Yes.” Lucius grimaced. “Living as a native is... different. More complex than I‘d ever imagine. Making tea is...”
The doctor had moved closer and before Lucius knew it, she was kissing him. Her lips were soft against his. Lucius stayed his movements in shock until her tongue slipped lightly over his teeth and into his mouth. He suppressed a growl as he took her by the shoulders and deepened the contact. Before he could grind against her, she moved back. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your release. I’ll be going now.”
He did not dare stop her as she strode to the door and out of his life. He was tied to this hell dimension for another two months. She would find someone more suitable in that time to affix her considerable beauty and intelligence and Lucius would be just an older fool that she remembered fondly and hopefully with no regrets. He turned his attentions to the boys. “I believe it is time for young Master Scorpius to prepare for bed. You two behave.”
&*&*&
The wedding Mass was over and Draco was waltzing with his blushing and pregnant bride at the reception in the soup kitchen. She pouted prettily, “How long have you known, Drake?”
“Kid, we live together, did you honestly expect me to overlook your lack of certain... functions?” Draco held his wife closer. “I love you, but if we don’t have a girl this time, will you be up for another?”
“Drake, let’s get through this pregnancy first.” Liz laughed. “I love you too.”
The song ended and Liz blew her perfectly arranged fringe off her forehead, rustling the pink tea roses in the process. “I’m going to be so hot by the end of summer. Be a darling and fetch me a cold drink, would you?”
Draco made his way to the kitchen area, only feeling a hint of nostalgia at the sight of the polished stainless steel and pitted porcelain of the appliances. Since they had been given his mother’s holdings, Draco knew he need not ever return to the beginning of his odyssey, homeless, addicted and alone. He ran his hand over the railing of the serving line, a small smile playing about his lips.
Ian joined him. “You’ve come along nicely, Draco. I am proud of you.”
“That’s good. I’m proud of me too.” Draco answered with a hint of laughter in his tone. “How is father getting on?”
Ian chuckled darkly. “I think your wife is waiting for her refreshment.”
“That bad, huh?” Draco gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you for taking him.”
“Go.” The priest patted Draco’s hand. “She looks as if she’s going to expire on the spot.”
He was stopped next by a vaguely familiar face. A clean-cut young man in silver-rimmed spectacles approached him. He extended his hand and Draco took it. “Do I know you?”
“I’d say you do, mate.” The young man’s voice was soft, raspy. “I’m the one that got you hooked on the stuff.”
“Cred?” Draco felt a familiar hunger in his veins, faint but gnawing. “What happened?”
“I go by my real name now. I’m Collin. Collin Paisley.” The man was blushing profusely. “As for what happened to me... It was you, man. I saw how you were cleaned up and it gave me some hope. I’m now a drug counsellor at an NHS funded rehab. Ian told me you were getting married and I decided to crash it. I‘ve got a little girl now and my wife is over there with that tall blonde man. I think that‘s your father?”
Draco drew the man to him, and he croaked out. “Congratulations.”
“Let me go, man... I think your old man’s making a move on my girl.” Collin, formerly Cred, gave Draco a final thump on the back. “You did good, kid.”
&*&*&
Things had gone full circle for Liz and for Drake. She was donning her final outfit for the day, a light dress, full at the waist. They were going off for a month to see the rest of Italy and take care of the now restored property at the Piazza San Marco. Liz was looking forward to it. This would be her first real holiday in her life. Her mum was going to stay with Andromeda while Drake’s architect finished her cottage. Liz loved being rich. Really loved it.
Drake kissed her neck. “It’s time for us to to go.”
“Not if you keep doing that.” Liz huffed. “And in church, no less.”
“We’re married.” Draco continued his exploration of her skin. “Mmm... you taste good. Uh, Liz?”
“Yeah?” Liz could feel the whisper of his breath on her neck hairs. The sensation sent dreamy swirls of gooseflesh down her back and shoulders.
“Potter found out something else about Snape,” Drake said. “He thinks he’s in the States, in the Middle West.”
The Dark Man, one of her saviours and her husband’s newest project. “What will you do when you find him?”
“I don’t know. Potter wants to talk to him.” Drake ran his hand up his wife’s dress, fondling her belly. “I just want to make sure he’s happy.”
“You both need to do that then.” Liz turned and drew her husband’s face to hers. “I never thought I’d marry one of you... after... but I’m glad it all happened. If it hadn’t been for that week, we never would have met and I would never have found the other piece of my soul.”
Drake kissed her. They were late leaving the dressing room, but they had all the time in the world.
FIN