Chapter Text
I didn’t have any family to invite to my wedding to Anthea, but the Weasleys volunteered--insisted, really--to be that family. I readily agreed to let them. Anthea invited her parents, her mother’s side and the few from her father’s side that knew about magic.The fact that she couldn’t bring her entire family took its toll on her, so I suggested that we have a Muggle wedding, too. The most surprised look coloured her features when I did, but she agreed, excited that they could see us get married.
I met her parents--my future in-laws--face-to-face for the first time. Anthea was a lot like her father. He was very friendly--some might say overly friendly--and excitable. Her mother, on the other hand, was very reluctant to even look at me. She kept her eyes on my left wrist so much that it looked like she was trying to cut my Mark away with her gaze.
The day of our wedding, I took a white cloth and wrapped it tightly over my Mark. I didn’t ever want to see it again, particularly at my wedding. I was going to do this, and I didn’t need anything sending me down memory lane during the ceremony.
The only real friends I had were Harry, Ron and Hermione, so Harry and Ron made up my half of the wedding party. I met some friends of Anthea’s that made up her half. The wedding was the same as Ron and Hermione's: in a tent in the garden of the Burrows. We invited much of the same people as before, but as I stood up on the podium in the fanciest tux I ever wore and ready to throw up everything I’ve ever eaten, I spotted Blaise and Pansy sitting in the back.
“I invited them,” Harry whispered. “I thought you might want them here. Did I overstep?"
“No,” I sighed, glancing back at him. “I guess I’m fine with Pansy being here, but Blaise is questionable.”
“Why?”
“He threw me in Azkaban, remember?”
“Yeah,” Harry scoffed, “where you met Anthea.”
“Ready, mate?” Ron muttered, walking up to us.
“Nope,” I answered.
They both laughed quietly. “I’d be surprised if you were,” Ron sighed as his laughter died down. “Anyways. She’ll be here in about two minutes.”
I instantly ran a hand through my hair to make sure it was smoothed down and flicked stray specks of dirt off of my suit that the barely-functioning logical part of my mind was saying weren’t there.
The music started and Anthea appeared in the doorway of the tent. She looked more beautiful than I have ever seen her. Her eyes hazel were bright, and her chestnut hair shined in the winter sun. Her white dress was long with a lace train. It was modest, but it hugged her hips in a way that made my heart beat faster than it already was.
“Sorry I couldn’t slip a nerve-killing tonic into your drink, mate,” Ron breathed, a smile in his words, but I paid it no mind.
Anthea’s father led her down the aisle and up to the platform where I waited. He embraced his daughter and glanced at me. He gave me her hand and lingered for a moment before letting go and taking a seat beside his wife.
The ceremony went by so quickly that we were exchanging rings before I knew it; and when it came time to say “I Do”, I stuttered so badly that Anthea had to finish for me. “He does,” she announced, making my cheeks burn as I lowered my gaze. “And just to get it out of the way, I do, too.”
The collection of people in the tent chuckled quietly at her words, but I looked at her both gratefully and apologetically, nodding at the man conducting the ceremony.
When we were permitted to kiss, she moved first and grabbed the front of my tux. She pulled me towards her, and her lips met mine.
A chorus of cheers rose from the crowd, rice and violet flowers raining down from the tent’s fabric roof.
The same process occured as during Ron and Hermione’s wedding. The chairs were cleared and replaced with tables. Music rang through the garden, and everyone danced; and Anthea and I finally had our first dance, which I found it to be three times easier than proposing. Anthea tossed her bouquet, and Ginny caught it. If my marriage--man, it's weird to think that I’m married now--was any indication, she and Harry are the next to be married in this tent.
Anthea’s friends had dragged her off to the side and were chatting away excitedly, each of them grabbing for her ring--my wife’s ring.
“Draco,” a hesitant voice called.
I took my eyes off of my wife and found the source of the voice: Blaise. “Hey,” I breathed.
Blaise cast his eyes to the floor before clearing his throat and looking back up. “I-I’m sorry about turning you in to the Ministry. I was panicking after the Battle, and you were acting so strange that day. So when I saw your Mark…” he trailed off.
“It’s okay,” I assured, realizing that I wasn’t as bitter over it as I thought I would be. “I might’ve spent a few months in Azkaban but, hey.” I gestured towards Anthea, my wife. “It’s where I met her.”
“Really?” he exclaimed, glancing between my wife and me.
“Yeah,” I laughed. “She’s the Auror who was guarding my cell.”
Pansy bounced up to us and suddenly embraced me tightly. “Congratulations, Draco!”
Her cheeks were tinged with pink, and alcohol coloured her breath. It was enough to remind me of Lucius, but I forced the memories down. Now wasn’t the time for that. “Thanks, Pansy,” I responded.
I was, actually, glad that the two were here. I got to at least start to make up with Blaise and reconnect with Pansy. We were friends five years ago--before I was a Death Eater--and we were still friends now.
Anthea and I decided to wait until I got out of school to have any children, which was fine by me. I was only twenty and nowhere near ready for kids, but I threw myself into my studies anyway, trying to get through them as fast as possible while still retaining the information.
I still lived at the dorm so we could keep the fact that I was married out of the press until I graduated. I wore gloves to cover my wedding band rather than take it off, though I wanted to show it off to everyone I met. My wedding to Anthea was one of the best things I’ve ever accomplished, but if the school press learned of my marriage, the professionals would soon enough. I honored my in-laws’ wishes and kept Anthea and I under wraps and out of the press until I graduated two years after our marriage.
I wasn’t a full Healer yet, though. I still had to complete a residency at a real hospital before then. I had all of the knowledge that I needed, but now I needed the experience.
Anthea and I quickly moved in together, and the press caught wind of it soon after. As time went on and Harry, Ron, Hermione and I left school and became official adults, the Daily Prophet and other newspapers wanted our stories more and more. The four of us got paid well to talk about the Battle of Hogwarts and the time before. I didn’t dive into anything specific, but I told them what being surrounded Death Eaters was like, and as time went on, less and less people looked like they wanted to punch me on the street.
I kept my Dark Mark wrapped up and hidden under a white strip of cloth. A lot of my patients asked if I was hurt, and I always told them that I got burned cooking--which was entirely conceivable. Anthea can attest that I am a terrible cook. I tried once. Once.
My nightmares persisted over the years, but they were getting less and less terrifying, and the tremor in my hand gradually faded until it disappeared.
My life with Anthea wasn’t entirely perfect. We argued over stupid things, but we could make up quickly.
After my residency was completed, I was a full Healer. I worked in the same hospital with the same people, but we were all full Healers, now. As time went on, it became easier to make friends and be social. After I got out of Azkaban, I wouldn’t dream that I could make friends with anyone beyond Harry, Ron and Hermione, but I made some at the hospital because the main area I worked in was the emergency room. People would come in after accidents and needed immediate care, having the worst day of their lives. There was a lot of blood, and though the magic we used prevented losses, it wasn’t infallible. People still died in the hospital, and it had formed a sort of bond between all of us former residents.
I spent every lunch break with the few friends I made, eating and talking, sometimes cracking jokes. We were rarely interrupted, so when someone new walked up to our table, it threw me off.
“Hermione?” I wondered as she took a seat. I’ve never seen her or any of the others at the hospital. She seemed to be alright, so what was she doing here?
“Hey, Draco,” she returned. “Before you ask if I’m okay, I am.”
“Alright,” I sighed. “Then what do you need?”
She glanced at the friends who I was sitting with. “Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?”
“I don’t have an office or anything, but I think we can kick my boss out of hers for a few minutes,” I offered, rising from my seat.
Hermione followed me through the corridors of the hospital. I received greetings and waves from other Healers and patients who had to stay overnight or longer, but we arrived at the hospital ER office quickly. I knocked and a quick “come in” answered. I opened the door and found Jane looking over a few files. “Hey, Jane,” I said, entering her office with Hermione behind me.
“What can I do for you, Draco?” she muttered distractedly.
“Hermione requested a private place to talk. I don’t have an office, and it’s lunch--which is where you’re supposed to be anyways--so I was wondering if we could borrow yours,” I explained.
Jane didn’t look up but glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I suppose I can give you a half hour in here,” she sighed, rising from her chair with a last look at the files. “Getting kind of hungry anyways.” Jane crossed the room and passed us, closing the door behind her.
I turned to Hermione as the blinds clicking on the door’s window finally settled. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Remember your Dark Mark?”
My uplifted mood instantly deflated at the mention of my Mark. I saw it every morning as I wrapped it up and every night when I uncovered it. I unconsciously held my left wrist as I answered her. “What about it?”
“As I’m sure you know, we have captured some of the Death Eaters who were on the run, and the Ministry wanted to remove their Dark Marks, but no one knew how. They pulled in members from every department to figure it out, and I was one of the people called in. We’ve...figured it out. We’ve removed the Marks from all of the Death Eaters we’ve captured.”
My lips parted as she spoke. They could remove Dark Marks? The Daily Prophet made every captured Death Eater a front page story, but they’ve said nothing about removing Marks.
Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. “They remembered you and your Mark and wanted to bring you in to remove it, but I volunteered to come to you and do it if you want.”
She could remove my Mark. I wouldn’t have to live with it anymore. I wouldn’t need to have the constant black reminder of Dumbledore, training and the War burned into my wrist.
“What do you say, Draco?” Hermione wondered, pulling me from my thoughts.
I looked over to her and slowly nodded, still to stunned at the idea.
Hermione smiled and drew her wand. “Could you take off your Healer’s coat, then?”
I nodded again and complied, shrugging off the white coat and draping it over the back of a nearby chair. I shoved up my sleeve and removed the white wrapping from around my wrist, revealing Bellatrix’s scar and the curling black snake. My stomach still did flips every time I looked at it.
“Let me see it,” Hermione whispered.
I swallowed deeply before stretching my arm out for her. She reached for my wrist, but the second she touched it, I instinctively pulled back. My heart raced as way too many memories leapt to mind.
“It’s okay,” Hermione comforted. “Everyone does that. We think that the Mark itself has some form of consciousness. A sort of self-preservation instinct.”
I nodded and tried to put my arm out for her again, but something wouldn’t let me. A voice in the back of my mind was whispering that she was going to hurt me.
“It’s okay,” she assured. “I’m not going to do any harm. Though the removing of it does seem to burn.”
I took deep breaths and forced the doubting voice away. Hermione never directly hurt me--unless you count the punch when we were thirteen. I gradually stretched my arm out for her and watched as she grabbed my wrist. It took all I had not to pull back again.
Hermione lifted her wand and pressed the tip of it to the skull of the Mark. Her wand glowed a soft white light that felt pleasant at first, but it quickly started to burn, the Mark twisting on my skin. I hissed and shut my eyes against the pain, determined not to move until she was finished.
Eventually, the burning ebbed, and something left me. A weight of some sort. Like I was letting go of something that I’ve been holding onto for the longest time.
I opened my eyes and found Hermione lifting her wand, a black strand writhing from the end of it. The black thing hissed as it disappeared, turning to nothing but smoke and gliding away.
I glanced at my wrist and found that the Mark was gone. There was no black shadow colouring my skin. The only thing that remained on my wrist was the deep scar from Bellatrix’s knife. I ran my thumb over the clear skin, almost not believing that it was really gone; that I wouldn’t have to wear long sleeves in hundred degree weather or lie to my patients and friends about why my left arm was wrapped up all the time.
It was gone.
I looked back up at Hermione. “Thank you,” I muttered.
“No need to thank me,” she dismissed, tucking her wand away. “I just figured that you would rather have me do it than someone else from the Ministry.”
“And you were right,” I responded, pulling my sleeve back down and picking up my Healer’s coat, draping it over my arm.
I opened the door and held it for Hermione. When she left Jane’s office, I let the door fall closed and walked her out of the hospital.
When I made my way back to the hospital’s canteen, the friends I left there each asked me where Hermione and I disappeared off to. I showed them my wrist in response. “The Ministry has figured out how to remove Dark Marks,” I explained. “Hermione just removed mine.”
“Cool!” one shouted.
“Aw!” another groaned. “I kinda wanted to see it.”
“So does everyone else,” I reminded.
With the Dark Mark gone, everything seemed brighter. It was easier to get along with frustrating people and patients at the hospital, and Anthea and I could make up after a fight quicker than ever. My nightmares ebbed until I hardly had any at all. Occasionally, I would dream of the Battle of Hogwarts and the death and destruction that happened there. I would be startled awake in a cold sweat, but the nightmare was easily forgotten.
Over the past seven years, there were multiple moments that I thought were the best of my life: ending Death Eater training, healing Luna, Ollivander and Hermione, fighting on the right side, being released from Azkaban, getting into medical school, marrying Anthea. But there was one moment that topped them all.
When Anthea told me she was pregnant.
We both practically jumped for joy, and I quickly informed Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione were overjoyed to hear about it, and Harry and Ginny--who finally married--were also pregnant with another child.
Anthea’s first trimester went by wonderfully, and the baby’s growth was on track. We were halfway through the second trimester when Harry and Ron visited me in the hospital as I was walking out for the day. I was excited to return home to Anthea and check on our child, but Harry and Ron caught me outside the hospital as I was leaving.
“Hey, guys,” I greeted, covering up a yawn from the long day.
“Hey,” Ron muttered.
The two looked solemn despite the good day. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Look, um…” Harry voiced. “We have something to tell you. We’ve managed to keep it out of the press for now, but they’ll catch wind of it soon, and we thought that it would be better if you heard from us rather than the Daily Prophet.”
“Okay. What is it?” I wondered, slightly worried at Harry’s quiet tone.
“We’ve, um…” Ron cleared his throat. “We’ve got you parents.”
My shoulders slumped, and my heart jumped. Lucius and Narcissa have been on the run for years. I haven’t even heard them mentioned for at least a year or two.
“We wanted to know if you wanted to see them,” Ron voiced, “before they’re locked up.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming my nerves. “I’ll visit them later. I need to get home to Anthea,” I dismissed, moving to take a step forward.
Harry caught my arm and prevented me from leaving. “You can’t visit them later. They’re still Death Eaters, and the Ministry has a ‘no tolerance’ policy when it comes to them.”
“They tolerated me,” I reminded, yanking my arm free from his grasp. “And Narcissa was never a Death Eater. She just agreed with their ideas about blood purity.”
“You were the only one they captured after the Battle of Hogwarts,” Ron voiced. “They wanted to know if you had any information about where the Death Eaters were hiding, so they were a bit more lenient with you in Azkaban. And after reviewing your memories and finding out that you were coerced, they couldn’t legally hold you.”
“But your father is not only a Death Eater but a fugitive, and your mother ran with him. She didn’t report him or anyone else for being a Death Eater,” Harry added. “They’re going to lock them up. Forever. No visitors, no anything.”
“The only time they’ll be let out is for their trial, but unless Lucius is proven to have been forced like you, and Narcissa is proven to not be a Death Eater, then they’re going straight back to their cells. You won’t ever be able to see them again,” Ron finished.
Never? Despite all that my parents had done, they were still my parents, so the thought of never seeing them again made my chest ache. I looked back up at both Harry and Ron. “Sure. I’ll see them.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised,” Ron said as we started down the sidewalk. “After everything, you still want to see them.”
“I don't necessarily want to see them,” I sighed. “More of an obligation to look Lucius in the eye one last time.”
The two led me down the street and two a Muggle phone box that they stepped inside of. I followed them in, watching Harry deposit Muggle coins into the phone. After a moment, the phone box shuddered before lowering like a lift and depositing us directly in the center of the Ministry’s main level. I followed them through the surging crowds of Ministry workers and visitors and to the bank of lifts. Ron called one, and Harry and I entered with three other people.
One of the men who entered with us did a double take, glancing at me. “You’re Draco Malfoy, right?” he wondered. I nodded and hummed in confirmation, earning the usual expression that was a mixture of surprise and excitement.
The lift made a few stops, allowing the three other people to get off, before it brought us to the Department of Mysteries. I trailed after Harry and Ron as the led me through the maze of black corridors. “How did you guys memorize this place?” I wondered, more to distract myself than anything else.
Harry scoffed in amusement. “How did you memorize all the spells and potions you use to heal? We studied.”
“And I still get lost,” Ron muttered, making me need to stifle a laugh.
The two stopped me outside of a door all too soon. “This is where they are,” Ron informed. “You ready?”
“Nope,” I answered, my stomach writhing.
“You don’t have to worry. There’re people watching through the glass,” Harry assured.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I muttered.
I haven’t seen my parents in years. How would I react when I saw them again--particularly Lucius? I didn’t know what I would feel. Anger, fear, nothing at all?
I placed my hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, breathing deeply before pushing it open. I walked in and closed the door behind me.
Lucius and Narcissa were sitting by the blank, metal table, huddled together. Their hair was knotted into a tangled mess and their clothes were in tatters. They were pale and underweight--much like I was when I got out of Azkaban.
Narcissa looked up as the door clicked closed, and her eyes widened at the sight of me. “Draco?” she breathed.
My throat sealed closed as I attempted to speak, so I only nodded.
Lucius’s head shot up at the sound of my name and glanced around until he found me. “My gosh,” he gasped. “You look so grown up.”
I scoffed internally. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say after everything?”
“What would you want us to say?” Narcissa asked.
“How about ‘sorry for locking you up in a cellar with the Dark Lord for weeks’?” I suggested, my voice rising steadily. “‘Sorry for torturing you. Sorry for forcing you to kill a man and train in Dark Arts.’” My voice was practically a shout now, but I sighed and forced myself to be calmer. “There are many things you could say.”
“If you want us to apologise for doing what was best for you--” Lucius muttered, but I cut him off.
“No, you didn’t,” I refuted. “How could you possibly think that was what was best for me? I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. How on Earth can that be good for anyone?” My voice gradually lowered to a whisper as my spike of emotion deflated, leaving me drained.
As my heated anger left, I realized that I really felt nothing towards the two people on the other side of the table. I was dully angry with them, yes, but it was quickly disappearing. There was no longing for who they were before the War or even true hatred for who they are now.
I pulled the third chair out from under the table and fell into it, suddenly exhausted. We were silent for a long time, and for once, I wasn’t scrambling to come up with something to say.
“Why are you wearing a Healer’s coat?” Lucius croaked as he looked me over.
“Because I've just came from work, and I’m a Healer,” I answered.
“So you did become a Healer after all,” Narcissa responded before glancing down at my left hand. “And you married.”
I passed my thumb over my golden wedding band as Lucius straightened his posture. “Who’s the lucky Slytherin?” he wondered.
“She’s not a Slytherin,” I stated.
“Then which House is she from?” Lucius asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Hufflepuff.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow but didn’t react otherwise. “At least she’s from Potter’s House.” He spat the name.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind if she was. And before you ask, she’s not a PureBlood, either.”
Narcissa almost jumped and shared a look with Lucius. “Don’t tell me she’s a Mud--”
“She’s a HalfBlood,” I interrupted. “But why does her blood status even matter? Hermione Weasley--that girl Bellatrix tortured--is one of my best friends now. She might be a MuggleBorn, but she’s more competent with magic than most PureBloods.”
“You’ve betrayed our bloodline,” Lucius growled.
“Not our bloodline. My bloodline. And I didn’t ‘betray’ it,” I returned. Lucius opened his mouth and looked about to argue, but I cut him off again. “You’re not anyone’s father or mother. Least of all mine.” I rose from my set. “Good luck at your trial. They reviewed my memories during mine, so it stands to reason that they’ll do the same at yours. I’ve got to go. I neglected to tell my pregnant wife that I came here because it was such short notice.”
“She’s pregnant?” Narcissa voiced.
Lucius kept his eyes on the silver table. “I--We’re going to be grandparents?” Though I didn’t answer, it didn’t take long for Lucius to look back up at me. “You’ll make a wonderful father, Draco.”
“Yeah,” I breathed, pleading that it would come true when my son or daughter was born. “And the reason is that you showed me exactly what to do to be one.” They both looked at me with confusion. “Just do the opposite of everything you did,” I finished.
I moved towards the door and opened it, a lot calmer than I thought I’d be. I stepped out and let it drift closed, sparing my parents one last glance.
“How did it go?” Harry wondered.
“After you stopped yelling, anyways,” Ron added.
The corner of my mouth twitched up at his comment. “Fine. Better than I though it would.”
Ron and Harry guided me back through the maze of corridors to the lifts and called one. They led me out of the Ministry building, and from there I went home to Anthea, who’s belly was rounding day by day with the growth of our child.
“Hey!” she called, putting down her book and getting up from the sofa. “Where’ve you been? You missed dinner. I was starting to get worried.”
Anthea embraced me, and I readily returned it, careful not to impact her stomach. “Harry and Ron stopped me as I was leaving work,” I answered as we sat back down on the sofa. “They said that they caught Lucius and Narcissa.”
“Your parents?”
I nodded. “They said that I had to see them right then and there because they’d be locked up and not allowed to have visitors. They’d be let out at their trial but then put right back into their cells if they’re found guilty--which is a guarantee in the way of Lucious, at least.”
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Must’ve been hard seeing Lucius again.”
“It was at first,” I admitted, “but the longer I spent there, the less it affected me. I really...don’t feel anything towards them at this point.”
“That’s good,” Anthea affirmed. “Means you’ve moved on. If they can still get in your head, you’re still living with them.”
I nodded and let everything go with a breath. I turned towards her an placed a hand on her expanding belly. “How’s our kid?”
The eleven years before we sent Scorpius off to Hogwarts passed by much too quickly. The years were filled with laughter and thousands of memorable moments. My patients knew me well, and they talked with me as much as time permitted. Scorpius easily made friends with Harry and Ginny’s and Ron and Hermione’s children, and he was overjoyed to start his First Year.
We gathered his things and piled them onto a trolley. Anthea and I guided him through King’s Cross Station to Platform Nine.
“This is it,” Anthea announced, gesturing to the barrier between Muggle Platforms Nine and Ten. “The gateway to Nine and Three-Quarters.”
“You sure about just running at it?” Scorpius asked, clearing his throat as he attempted to cover up the slight tremor in it.
“Yes,” I sighed. “For about the thousandth time, you run at it and you’ll pass straight through to Nine and Three-Quarters.” Scorpius nodded, but I took the opportunity to mess with him a bit. “Or you’ll hit it and fall over like Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron did.”
“What?” my son exclaimed, his expression making me laugh wonderfully hard.
“Draco,” Anthea muttered, a note of warning in her voice that made me nervous.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed as my laughter died down. “I was just kidding. You’ll be fine.”
“Dad!” Scorpius groaned, lightly slapping my arm.
“Look, if you want me to go with you, I will,” I offered.
Scorpius glanced between me and the barrier before nodding.
“Okay,” I muttered as I placed a hand on one of his shoulders. “We’ll run on three, okay?” He nodded. “One. Two. Three.”
The two of us charged at the barrier, and it deposited us on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters like it always did. I glanced down at my son and found him smiling slightly, a relieved expression on his face. “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked, Scorpius shaking his head in answer.
Anthea soon appeared behind us as she ran through the barrier. “Ready to go?”
Scorpius nodded vigorously, his lips stretching into a smile. “Uh-huh.”
“Let’s go then,” Anthea exclaimed, taking our son’s trolley.
Anthea and I guided Scorpius through the crowds of witches and wizards of all ages until we arrived at the luggage check. “Anything you don’t want to take on the train with you--like you trunk--you place here,” I explained.
“I know, Dad. You’ve explained it five times by now,” Scorpius reminded.
“So what if I want you to be prepared?” I wondered, filling my voice with sarcasm as I dragged his heavy trunk off of the trolley.
As soon as our son’s larger pieces of luggage were stowed in the train’s cargo bay, Scorpius wrapped his small arms around my waist and embraced me tightly. I bent down and wrapped my arms around his small shoulders. The moment we let go, he turned to Anthea and did the same.
I glanced up and spotted the four familiar faces of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They smiled and waved, and I did the returned it.
The train whistled loudly, telling everyone in the station that it was time to board. “Ready to go?” I wondered, glancing down at Scorpius.
My son looked up at Anthea and me and took a deep, nervous breath before nodding. “As I’ll ever be.”
Scorpius ascended the stairs in onto the train, repeatedly glancing back towards Anthea and me. He found the compartment that was being shared with Harry and Ginny’s and Ron and Hermione’s children and squeezed in, barely fitting in at all. He waved at us through the window as a Chocolate Frog jumped onto the glass and clung there for a moment before dropping back down.
I watched as the train pulled free of the station, my mind drifting back through my years at Hogwarts School. They was some of my most memorable and enjoyable years but also some of the worst. I was tortured, sick and fought in a war--killing countless people.
But my Dark Mark is gone, now. Lucius Malfoy was locked up for longer than life, and though Narcissa wasn’t sent to Azkaban, we hadn’t spoken in ages. I had changed a woman’s last name from Baker to Malfoy, I became a Healer, and our son was attending school to make his own memories.
No one had hurt me for years. My wrist never burned as a black, snake and skull tattoo writhed on my skin.
All is well.