Archive of Our Own ^beta

Many years have passed since those summer days among the fields of barley

See the children run as the sun goes down among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley.

(Sting, Fields of Gold )

Narcissa

Narcissa had kept the secret for so long, buried her shame for so many years, that it had almost become a part of her very being. Even all those years ago, it had been the most confusing and painful thing she had ever experienced.

She reflected on the girl she had been. The girl who had watched one of her sisters become disowned for her choice of husband. The girl who had trusted every word her other sister had said when she ranted about blood traitors. The girl who had married Lucius Malfoy, because he was handsome, rich and powerful; because he was from the right family.

Narcissa was born a Black, a noble pure-blood, and her husband Lucius was a Malfoy with equally pure magical blood. She firmly believed this blood made her superior, that any non-magical blood was tainted and unclean. She understood her husband and sister when they became Death Eaters, joining the quest to reinstate the pure-bloods as rulers, but she enjoyed her life of luxury in the Malfoy Manor, and was in no way tempted to draw her own wand in the fight.

Narcissa had been thrilled to discover she was pregnant, and she had instantly adored her daughter when she was born. They hadn’t known then. It was only when her little girl, Ara, had turned 8 that they had started to become concerned. Most children show their magical abilities within the first 7 years, but she had not yet displayed even the slightest sign. Narcissa could remember watching Ara playing with her younger brother Draco, worrying about how her husband would react if their daughter were a Squib. She had tried to detach herself from her, to prepare herself, but nothing compared to the reality of the day they realised the letter would never come.

In mid-July of Ara’s 11th year there was no longer any denying it, no more suggesting the letter had been sent with a slow owl. The reality was, Ara was not a witch but a Squib; she wasn’t going to Hogwarts. Narcissa was overwhelmed and nervous. She had never been more embarrassed in her life, she’d given birth to a Squib, a Squib! Would she be expelled from the house and divorced for the atrocity? To add to her shame, she realised that she was not, as she should have been, disgusted by her daughter, instead she still loved her. It was abhorrent that she was worried about the welfare of the girl who threatened to destroy her family.

She almost collapsed when Lucius didn’t toss her into the street immediately. In her relief, she barely heard him working through the options. His preferred plan was to kill their daughter, but he took pity on an already weeping Narcissa (whose eyes had widened in horror at the suggestion) and compromised with a plan to tell everyone she was dead, then actually send her to Muggle boarding school and abroad for summers. They had severed the siblings’ contact when Draco was so young that if ever he asked they could pretend he’d imagined having a sister.

Ara never attended the Muggle school. She disappeared on the same day as their conversation, without a single one of their protective wards being broken, without any of her possessions being disturbed.

Narcissa never fully recovered from the sudden disappearance of her daughter. She never spoke of it with Lucius, too ashamed to admit she had cared for the girl and afraid of both what she might find out and what he might do. She poured all of her motherly concern and love into her remaining child, futilely attempting to protect him as war engulfed their lives once again, and terrified that Bellatrix or Voldemort would discover her secret. Despite everything, the question still lingered in her mind, and it still hurt to wonder what had become of her baby girl, her Ara. 

Draco




Draco sighed as he opened his most recent rejection letter. It read much the same as all the others, polite indifference covering the real message, ‘we don’t employ Death Eaters’.




His side had lost the war, and yet he was beginning to question whether that wasn’t actually a positive. The punishment he had been handed at his trial paled in comparison to the daily terror he’d felt when Voldemort had ruled his family home. Hermione Granger, childhood victim of his own bigoted abuse and teenage victim of his aunt’s torture, had campaigned for education over imprisonment. As a result, Draco had only been sentenced to a few months living without magic in the home of Muggle relatives of wizards and witches, before studying for N.E.W.T.s in Muggle Technology and Muggle Culture as part of a final year at school.




It was the fall from societal grace that had hit Draco the hardest. He had struggled to complete his N.E.W.T year at Hogwarts, his classmates no longer admired nor feared him; his Death Eater status belittled by his cowardice. The life he had been promised since birth, his guaranteed position in society due to his superior blood status, had been ripped from him before it had truly begun. Draco’s entire understanding of the way the world worked had been upended, leaving him confused, uncertain and broke.




His mother’s sentence included a trace similar to the one on minors, meaning that if magic was done within a 50m radius of her, her probation would be breached. The Malfoy Manor was too magical for her to even enter the grounds, so she lived in the nearest Muggle village, leaving Draco alone in the Manor with only the echoes of the past for company. He had been rattling around the large house since finishing Hogwarts, trying in vain to find someone who would employ him, becoming increasingly aware of how little money was left in the Malfoy vaults after the war reparations had been taken.




Truthfully, part of him still held onto the prejudices with which he’d been raised, still couldn’t fully comprehend why no one would employ a pure-blood and a Malfoy at that, but he realised he had to accept that he was not likely to be given a job. It was time to start sifting through the house, the family name had failed to get him anywhere, so he’d have to make his ancestors’ legacy pay by selling their heirlooms. Draco slowly moved through the house, evaluating everything from furniture to cutlery and lamps, gradually learning what price he could fetch for different items. He was surprised how much he enjoyed the meticulous work.




It was a few weeks into the clear out when Draco reached his father’s study. His fingers hesitated on the door handle, his every instinct telling him to let go, to walk away, to leave the dust to settle on the life his father had been forced to leave behind. He took a deep breath, gripped the handle tighter and twisted it, refusing to be intimidated by the memory of his father’s imposing figure emerging from behind this door. He pushed it open, and for the first time in his life, stepped over the threshold into the study. 

The room was lighter than Draco had expected, the sun pouring in through the large windows casting an incongruous warmth across the mass of rich brown wood and lavish green curtains. Draco let his eyes slide over the carvings on the panelled walls without really seeing them, he didn’t need to know what past Malfoy patriarchs had depicted there. The room was large but sparsely furnished; a huge bureau sat in the centre dominating the space, and the single high backed chair tucked in behind it was upholstered with a stiff looking, violently green leather. The eyes of generations of his paternal ancestors followed him as he stepped further into the study, the men somehow still fearsome when trapped in frames hung on the walls. 

Draco deliberately avoided looking at the painted faces around him as he approached the bureau. By now, he was experienced enough to know that the desk would fetch a handsome price, it was solid Mahogany wood and woven with multiple different charms. Unfortunately, it was still exactly as his father had left it, so Draco would need to sort through the numerous drawers, carefully work out what was important, and discard the rest. Feeling the vicious glares and hearing the indignant outrage coming from the portraits, he tried to shake his unease as he conjured a new chair, took a seat and reached for the top drawer.

Several hours later, his fifth silencing charm was wearing off and he was starting to wonder if he would ever finish, or if he’d die hunched over some old receipt. Lucius Malfoy was a true Slytherin and Draco was sure he had kept all these documents as evidence for potential future blackmailing purposes, but there was just so many. 

Draco rubbed his eyes, pulled open a new drawer and reached inside. His hand brushed against the top of the drawer and he suddenly felt a sharp tug behind his navel, the familiar pull of a portkey whisking him away. He found himself surrounded by darkness, shadows moving threateningly around him. Draco forced himself to remain calm, knowing instinctively that this place would be laced with charms to detect panic. Any Malfoy would be safe here, he just needed to work out how to access the portkey back to the study.  As this thought crossed his mind, a knife appeared in his hand. Blood meant everything in this family, so naturally it would be the answer here too. Draco pricked his skin with the knife and felt the pull the instant the droplet of blood touched the blade. 

When he landed back in the study, his skin was healed and the knife gone. A thin folder had appeared on the top of the bureau. He picked it up, expecting to find a record of some dark, illegal, magical act, but instead finding a slim stack of photos, and a single, small piece of official looking parchment. He pulled out the parchment first. It was a birth certificate. Almost every detail, including the parents, matched his own, except for the date, name and gender. This belonged to a girl named Ara Narcissa Malfoy, born 4.5 years before him. He pulled out the photos, leafing through the images of his parents and his younger self smiling happily alongside a girl who looked almost identical to Draco.

It was as if all of the air had left the room and the world was moving in slow motion. Draco’s thoughts whirled in confusion as he struggled to process what he’d just found. When he had been younger, he had an imaginary sister called Ara; he could vividly remember his father goading him about it during school holidays. But how were there pictures of someone imaginary? And that birth certificate looked so genuine. Ara couldn’t be real, there had to be another explanation, if she were real then everything else in his life would also be thrown into question, how would he know if anything was real or not? His mother would explain. He had to see his mother.

Draco stood, grabbed the photos and the birth certificate and ran. Straight down the stairs, out of the door and through the garden, across the estate, and into the field that lay between the Manor and the village. As he ran through the golden barley, the memory hit him. He was running through this very field, his sister’s warm hand holding his, the joy of laughter washing over them both. All the memories came rushing back. She was pulling faces to make him laugh at the breakfast table, taking his hand when he was scared of the peacocks, reading him a bedtime story curled up on the sofa. It was real. She was real. He had a sister.

He’d stopped abruptly when the realisation struck, but he started to run again, needing to get to his mother to ask the questions now flooding his mind. He could only remember her from a time when he was small, where had she gone? Why had she gone?

Narcissa




Narcissa was reading when the silence was broken by an incessant pounding on her front door and muffled shouts of “Mother, open the door, Mother!” The clear distress in her son’s tone was somewhat disturbing, and Narcissa frowned slightly as she went to open the door. When Draco stormed over the threshold, her eyes caught on the parchment and photos in his shaking hand. She froze with shock. She’d assumed all the evidence had been destroyed, that she would never be faced with a physical trace of the secret she guarded so fiercely. A million thoughts fought to be heard, but she closed her eyes and summoned the emotional shield she had long since perfected.




With her face schooled into a hard, blank expression, she let her son’s continued shouts wash over her.


“That’s enough now, Draco. Do sit down. I’ll get you a nice cup of tea.”


Her tone was clipped and firm. Draco scowled, but sank into a chair and waited in silence. She took her time making the tea, busying herself fetching cups, saucers and milk while the water came to the boil. She could no longer simply deny Ara’s existence, and her son deserved answers about his sister and her disappearance from his life.




It hurt more than ever to think about her daughter now that she could no longer use magic so knew how it felt to live like a Muggle. Narcissa’s emotional response was as confused and mixed as ever, so she tried to push Ara out of her mind. She resented her for the strain that the fear of the secret being discovered had put on her through the war, and still attempted to assuage her own crippling guilt by blaming the girl. Despite everything, she’d never been able to stop loving her daughter and, even all these years later, still worried daily about her fate. She couldn’t possibly explain any of this to Draco. She was too ashamed to admit she had given birth to a Squib, and she couldn’t talk about Ara’s mysterious disappearance, for saying it out loud would make it too real for Narcissa to bear.




As she waited for the tea to finish brewing she came to a decision. The truth was too painful for her to articulate, too difficult to explain. She would have to lie. Since the war, she had tried to be honest with him, but lying was preferable to facing her own son’s judgment and potential hatred. She took a deep breath, poured the tea and addressed her son.

Draco




Draco watched his mother as she explained that Ara had contracted a terrible case of dragon pox, that they hadn’t wanted him to worry about fatal diseases so had decided to deny her existence completely. Her tone was calm and her expression soft and mournful, almost the perfect image of a grieving mother. Almost, but Draco could see straight through the cracks in her act; the way she kept her teacup in one hand and the saucer held in the other so her hands were occupied, the way she continuously kept his eye contact, forgetting that people avert eyes for hard conversations as well as when they lie, the way her left eyebrow was twitching almost imperceptibly. She herself had taught him to always keep his hands busy, that the eyes told their own story, to look for involuntary movements. In a rushed, panicked crash course before Voldemort arrived she had taught him all the little tells that gave him away when he lied, but right now it was her showing all of them. What Draco couldn’t understand was why she wasn’t disclosing the truth.




As he sipped his tea and half listened to the story his mother was spinning, he considered his options. The obvious one was to call her out on the lie and demand the truth, but his mother had lied to a murderous madman in the past, and he knew from experience that confronting her never benefitted anyone. He could ask his father, but all contact with him was strictly monitored by the ministry and he sensed this was not something they should know about. The only other options he could think of were combing the house for evidence, and hiring a private investigator to find out what had really happened.




He thanked his mother for the tea, gave her a brief hug and mumbled apologies for the loss of her daughter, feigning that he had bought the story like the Malfoy he was. 

On the walk back, he thought about the memories he had repressed until that day. Every single memory with Ara was a happy one, filled with laughter and more affection than Draco could remember receiving from anyone else. By the time he reached the Manor he had definitively decided that he owed it to his younger self to find what had become of the person he had once loved the most.

Private investigators were not cheap, but the revenue from selling part of the contents of Malfoy Manor had already become sizeable, and Draco had no doubt that the investment was justified. He went through every room of the Manor looking for evidence, but the birth certificate and photos were apparently the only things left of the girl. 

As time passed, Draco began to lose hope of ever finding answers. He kept the investigator searching. Eventually, he finished sorting through the Manor and started a company offering his services to go through other similar old houses, building himself a career that was entirely his own. He still wondered, still thought of her when he passed blonde women or saw children with their siblings in the street, never stopped wishing he could find out what had happened to Ara Narcissa Malfoy.

Previously

Ara

Ara had felt the sense of foreboding rising as they waited and waited for a letter that never came. It was never going to come. Somehow though, it was only now, standing alone in a busy train station surrounded by hurried Muggles, that the dreadful reality of her situation dawned on her. She was terrified and completely and utterly alone. She was lucky to be alive, saved only by the brave house elf who had brought her here. He had given her the stark warning never to return, for if she did she would be killed, and then he had left.

She didn’t know when she had begun to cry, but she realised she must be when a kind looking red haired woman stopped and bent down to meet her eyes.
“Are you ok, love?”
Ara just sobbed.
“Oh, my dear, it’ll be alright, what’s your name?”
“A-A-A-Ar-A”
“What was that sorry?”
One of the children, who Ara now noticed crowded behind their mother, piped up.
“Sounded like Anna to me”
“Anna, was that it, Anna?”
Ara, by this point not caring enough to correct them, simply shrugged and allowed them to call her Anna.
“Ok, well it’s nice to meet you Anna. Where are your parents, have you lost them?”
At the mention of her parents, Ara’s sobbing intensified, so the woman swept her into a motherly hug like nothing Ara had ever experienced, and murmured that everything would be ok. Despite everything, she felt comforted by the warm embrace.

The red headed family found a police officer, who sat her in a warm office, and even gave her biscuits and some orange juice, while the station staff attempted in vain to find her parents. Eventually, after it became dark and they had tried everything, she was taken to an emergency foster carer for the night. 

The missing child campaign over the next few weeks failed to find her parents, much to Ara’s relief given their murderous plans. She refused to tell them her surname, so in the end her social workers decided she would be known as Anna King, after the station in which she was found.

There was a lot about her new life which Anna King did not understand. The other children at her foster home made fun of her for not knowing the different “shows” on the weird portrait that flicked between places and people, and called her names when she tried to talk to the people in the frame, as if it wasn’t terrifying that the portrait didn’t seem to know they were there. She now went to a school where she was expected to write with an odd device that was harder than a quill and didn’t need to be dipped in ink, and the subjects she was meant to learn were completely befuddling. Her teachers looked at her with sympathy, unable to understand how she was 11 and lacking basic knowledge, and her carers thought she was strange and incredibly unintelligent.

Over the years which followed, Anna learnt how to fit in and act like a Muggle. The less she stuck out, the more accepted she was, until at last she wasn’t moved on quickly from a home, and she began to make friends at school. When she was 14, her art teacher noticed something in Anna, realised there was a whole world trapped inside her head. She encouraged her to express herself through art, to allow her imagination o run out onto the page. So, under the guise of creativity, Anna began to put the images from her childhood into paintings. With every piece of artwork, Anna felt a sense of relief, the secrets she had been guarding for years now released in a show of colour.

Anna’s work captivated others, and she went on to study art at university when she finished school. Upon graduating, her work began to be selected for exhibition in galleries. Her paintings sold well, with one particular piece, “ Face in the Fire ” even fetching £2500. 

There was just one piece at Anna would never sell. It was regularly displayed in galleries but never available to buy. It depicted a golden field of barley set against a night sky, a smattering of trees, and a single Tudor style manor on the far off horizon, just visible in the moonlight. Spread across the star studded night sky, were the large, flame-red wings of an elegant dragon, the arrow tip of its tail trailing through the barley as it flew, the back of its head clearly pointing up towards the sky, towards the future. She named it “ Draco’s Rising ”.

While Anna had left almost every part of the life she had lived when she was Ara behind, her art having helped her to finally face the past and reconcile herself with what had happened, she could not prevent herself from wondering what had happened to her baby brother. She could still vividly remember the last time she had seen him. Together, they had snuck away from their morning walk around the immaculately kept grounds to run freely through the vast fields that surrounded the house. She could still hear the echo of Draco’s laugh, still feel the thrill of liberation running through her veins as they ran hand in hand through swathes of golden barley. Her parents had been furious. Ara was a bad influence on her brother, and they should be moved to separate wings of the Manor. She had lived in that house for another 2 years, but never so much as glimpsed Draco again.

A lot of her paintings featured tributes to her little brother, mostly in the form of dragons or his constellation prominent in the night sky, but sometimes in more subtle ways, his favourite fruits or colours, for example. Anna happily sold these artworks, they were not so close to her heart that she couldn’t bear to lose them. Draco’s Rising was different, it held not only the fields they had run through, but also showed her one hope for her little brother, that he had been able to spread his wings and fly away from the parents who had broken her trust. It was her hope that Draco was happy.

Arthur




It was nearing the end of the afternoon one Friday, and Arthur Weasley was flicking through his in-tray, trying to assign work for the next week to his team. Since the war, he had been promoted to Head of Muggle Appreciation, a new department set up mostly to reduce prejudice post-war, but also to look after some elements of keeping the Statute of Secrecy. Although he would have preferred less paperwork and more time out of the office, he enjoyed the variety of the work and his interactions with the Muggles whose culture so fascinated him.

He slowly made his way through the stack, sorting them into three piles, cases that could be dismissed, those to monitor and those to investigate. One case in particular caught his attention, an artist who was producing pieces depicting things from the magical world. Artwork always required further investigation, as although non-photographic images of the Wizarding World could easily be passed off as fantasy to Muggles, if the images suggested a connection to magic they had to check that spellwork and magical materials had not been used to create something inexplicable to Muggles. It was the name of the artist, Anna King, which struck him.

Years earlier, his wife had found a young blonde girl called Anna in floods of tears in the Muggle part of King’s Cross Station, and ever since, Arthur had found himself drawn to the name, still wondering what had become of the little girl with fearful eyes. He had followed her story in the Muggle press as they attempted to locate her family (while speculating wildly on where a child so old had sprung from). It had been difficult explaining to his children, particularly his daughter, why they couldn’t adopt the girl themselves. Much as both he and Molly would have liked to, adopting a Muggle into a magical family at her age would not have been fair, as it would have been too much of a culture shock for an already vulnerable child. Eventually, her story became old news and the papers moved on, but the mystery still played on Arthur’s mind.

He glanced over the basic information provided on Anna King’s file, and noted that the gallery in which her work was displayed had an event on the following evening featuring the artist. He could easily have sent someone else, but the combination of the name and Arthur’s fondness for art resulted in him pocketing the event flyer and adding the event to his Saturday evening plans.

The gallery was housed in a modern building, its large glass exterior reflecting the early evening sunlight as he approached, having walked the short distance from the alley into which he’d apparated. Anna King’s viewing was the only event on that evening, so it was easy for Arthur to find the section dedicated to displaying her artwork.

It was obvious from his first glimpse at the paintings that their artist had been into the Wizarding World. From Floo calls to house elves, everything depicted was accurate in a way only a true witness could achieve. The magic detection spells he cast from a shadowed corner all came back negative, and Arthur had no doubt that the materials used were Muggle: the art itself was fine. The only potential issue left to discount was how Anna had discovered their world, and whether that broke the Statute.

Arthur slowly made his way from piece to piece, enjoying the way the art made him see the world he lived in from a new perspective. He knew he needed to talk to the artist, but he was struggling to think of a plan beyond his current flimsy idea of loitering for long enough that he would find her by chance. 

He was admiring a large painting of a dragon over a field when a woman joined him. He noticed the name of the painting at the exact moment she began to speak, and when he lifted his head and saw her appearance, everything fell into place at once, making Arthur freeze with the force of the shock.

Standing before him was unmistakably the girl from the station all those years ago, but the pale blonde hair suddenly took on a whole new significance when coupled with her knowledge of magic and the name Draco on her painting. This girl was, without a doubt, a Malfoy.

As his shock wore off, Arthur realised that he had been staring open mouthed at the poor girl for an uncomfortable amount of time. He was aware of how carefully he must now tread to make sure he didn’t scare her off.
“I’m very sorry, it’s just... you probably don’t remember me but... I’m pretty sure you’re the girl my wife discovered crying at King’s Cross Station when you were just a young girl”
She stared at him, eyes wide. When she spoke, it was barely a whisper.
“That... that was you?”
Arthur nodded, and allowed her a moment before he responded.

“You know, we followed your story at the time, hoping you’d be OK, and even after the papers stopped reporting, we were always wondering...”
“Thank you... for... for being there that day. I was so scared, but when your wife hugged me, it was the first time since... since... that I felt like maybe I would be alright.”
Arthur gave her a warm smile.
“I’m glad we could help even a little, I’m so sorry that it happened to you though, it must have been awful.”
Anna nodded and looked to the floor.
“It was.”

Arthur sensed it was time to move on to less harrowing topics.
“Well, your art is certainly impressive.”
Anna gave a tentative smile.
“Thank you.”
“I particularly like this piece, the way the dragon looks like it’s flying up and away...”
“It’s my favourite... it’s not for sale.”
Her tone had become suddenly defensive, surprising Arthur somewhat.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean... Not that I wouldn’t want...”
“It’s ok.”
“The name is interesting.”
“Draco is the name of the dragon constellation-” she gestured to a section of the stars in the painting “just here.”
Arthur murmured his assent and steeled himself for the sensitive topic he was about to breach with her.
“I know someone called Draco.”
Anna stilled. Her next words came out slightly strained.
“You do?”
“Not well, I must admit, but yes, he was at school with my son”
“And he was called Draco?”
“That’s right, Draco... Draco Malfoy”

Anna let out a quiet gasp. They had both been looking at the painting, but now she turned to Arthur, studying him as if to decipher how much he really knew.
“He looks just like you, you know?”
Arthur spoke softly, subtly answering the unspoken question, while desperately trying not to spook her.
“Is... is... is he... ok?”
Arthur nodded. “I can get contact details for him if you’d like?”
Anna’s eyes filled with the same fear he’d seen when he first met her at the station.
“I... I... I can’t.”
“Anna, I can see that you’re very scared. I need you to know that you can trust me. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I have to admit, I think I’ve worked out who your parents are and the reason you were abandoned. I’m so sorry that happened, it was cruel, you should never have been judged simply because you couldn’t do magic.”
Silent tears had started to fall from Anna’s face while Arthur spoke, and her voice now trembled.
“Please, please don’t tell them.”
“I promise, I won’t tell anyone who you are... and certainly not how to find you. Though would it be OK if I told my wife that you’re safe? She’d like to know.”
Anna nodded.

“If ever you need anything, or if you decide you do want to make contact with Draco, you can contact me.”
He reached for his wand inside his pocket, and silently conjured a small business card, onto which he wrote the number of the landline at his home.
“Thank you.”
“My wife would be thrilled if you’d like to come to dinner, or even for coffee at our home, she really has worried about you.”
Uncertainty mixed with the fear still evident on Anna’s face.
“Of course, it’s ok if you’d rather not, but it’s an open invitation, you’re always welcome, you know how to get in contact.”
Arthur gave her a quick pat on the shoulder, turned and left the gallery before the tears building behind his eyes had a chance to fall.

Anna

Anna turned the business card over in her hands as she sat staring absently out of the café window, watching the rain fall on the evening traffic. She replayed the last 10 months in her head, a sorry story that ended in a grotty café with a phone number she’d been given over a year ago representing her last and only hope.

Kieran was a well known art dealer who started off interested in her artwork, but quickly became interested in Anna herself after they met to discuss a possible sale. Thinking back, he had shown his cards at that first meeting, made it clear what he really wanted.

They started dating, and when 6 months later the tenancy on her flat ran out, he suggested she move in with him. It was 7 months in when he first said that “if she loved him, she’d give him the painting”. She had refused outright, any other painting he could have, but not that one. By this point, she’d become financially dependent on him, he’d taken the money the gallery had given her at the start of the exhibition as her contribution to rent, and it was another 6 months before she received any money from the sale of her art.

That first fight opened the floodgates for more, increasingly frequent arguments. They would start differently each time, but somehow they’d always end up back on the same topic. She stayed resolute, she wouldn’t give or even sell him Draco’s Rising . It was 8 months in, when she gave him her attempt at recreating the painting, that he first hit her. She couldn’t reconcile this man with the one she had first met, so doting and kind, but she had nowhere else to go and still loved the man she hoped was inside there somewhere, so she stayed. The arguments continued, and with them, the violence.

Today’s argument had been just like the ones that came before it. This one started over tidying. Only this time, when he raised his hand, Anna was different. This time, she couldn’t just stand there and take it. This time, she had more than just herself to protect. This time, she ran. She had  grabbed her handbag on the way to the door and sprinted out of the house, clutching her hand to her stomach and fearing only for the safety of the tiny life growing inside her.

She didn’t know if Kieran had tried to follow her. He hadn’t caught up with her yet, but she couldn’t stay here. She didn’t have any money for starters, and she didn’t want to know what might happen if he found her. There were no friends she could call, and she only realised now how isolating her relationship had been. Her only hope was phoning Arthur Weasley, though she wondered if he’d welcome the contact. It had been so long since that day in the gallery.

Anna had been tempted at the time to accept his invitation back into the magical world, just to confirm to herself that her memories were true, and to thank his wife personally for her comfort that horrible day. But she saw magic as danger - the promise of her murder, the terrifying outfits her parents had worn when she was little, the scary tattoos on their arms. Then, there was Draco, who featured in her most treasured memories. Her hope for him was the thing she held most dearly, but what if he’d turned out like their terrifying father? She was afraid that meeting him would shatter the illusion and the hope which had at times kept her going.

Arthur had been kind, nothing like her parents. He had promised not to tell anyone of her, and she hadn’t been found and killed, so he must have kept his word. He hadn’t pressed for information. They had helped her at the station, and instinctively she knew she could trust them, even if they were magical. Anna pulled her shoulders back as she stood, braced herself, then determinedly walked out of the café to the phone box across the street. Her fingers shook as she pushed in the coins and dialled the number.

Molly




Molly Weasley was going over her list for tomorrow’s shopping when the phone surprised her by ringing. She’d learnt how to use it when her son was in Australia, but no one had used it since his return months ago.


“Hello?”


“Um... hello, is this Arthur Weasley’s number?”


“Yes, this is his wife, I’m afraid he’s out at the moment, can I take a message?”


“... I... You might not remember me, but um, you... when I was 11, you... you helped me”


“Anna? Is that you? From the station?”


“That’s me.”


“Oh Anna, it’s so lovely to hear from you! How are you, my dear?”


What came next was a near incoherent jumble of garbled words and barely contained sobs, but Molly had witnessed enough crises to put together the muffled sounds and words. This girl was yet again alone, scared and had nowhere to go. Molly had once walked away to keep the statute, but she refused to do so a second time.


“Anna, Anna please listen to me for a moment. I want to help you, I can come and find you and take you somewhere safe, but I need you to tell me where you are.”




Once Anna had given her the address, Molly assured she would be there in 10 minutes and hung up. It was only at this point that Molly realised that the telephone was possibly the only thing in the Muggle world she had mastered, meaning she wouldn’t know where to start helping Anna, a Muggle, without using magic. Her husband would know how to deal with the situation though. Arthur hadn’t said where he was going, so naturally, Molly knew exactly where he was.




One dark and two ginger heads looked up from the motorbike at the sound of Molly apparating in. The brief moment of shock on all three faces was quickly replaced by matching guilty expressions as they realised they’d been caught in the act. Normally, Molly would have made it very clear just how much she disapproved of their “adjustments” to the bike, but today there was no time.


“Arthur, I just had a phone call, it was Anna, you remember that Muggle girl? She needs help.”


Arthur frowned as he straightened up, and as soon as he reached Molly, she apparated them both away.




Molly rushed out of the deserted car park stairwell into which they had apparated with Arthur following close behind. As soon as she turned the corner she saw her, still in the phone box but hunched over, the blond hair hanging over her face damp with rain and her shoulders visibly convulsing as she sobbed. Molly didn’t pause before yanking open the door and pulling Anna up into a warm, motherly embrace.




They stood like that, Molly murmuring comforting words while Anna took shuddering breaths, until Arthur placed a light hand on his wife’s shoulder and suggested they get out of the rain. He scooped her bag up, turned to Anna and invited her back to their house. Molly’s eyes widened, her husband was the Head of Muggle Appreciation for Merlin’s sake, how could he forget that their house was the least Muggle friendly home possible? She caught his eye and attempted to communicate this wordlessly, but before she could get the message across, Anna surprised her by interrupting the silent exchange.




“It’s OK, I’m a Squib.”


“You’re… But...”


“I’m sorry Molly, I promised I wouldn’t say, I thought that her being safe was all you really cared about, and she was. Safe, I mean.”


“Mrs Weasley, it’s my fault, I asked him not to tell anyone, I...I didn’t want my parents to find out.”


Molly wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with this barrage of new and entirely unexpected information. 

“It’s ok dear, I understand.”
“So, back to my previous question, would you like to come back to our home, or would you prefer to perhaps go to a café near here?”
“If it’s ok, I really don’t want to be here for any longer than I have to be.”
Molly noticed her hand move over her stomach as she spoke. Arthur was running through the options for getting to their house, listing all the magical and Muggle means.
“We shouldn’t apparate” she interjected.
Arthur and Anna both looked at her, confused.
“How about we take a Muggle taxi to the nearest magical fireplace and Floo. That shouldn’t take too long.”
“Apparating would be quicker if Anna’s OK with magical transport, I imagine her parents side-alonged her as a child?”
Anna nodded in agreement. Luckily at this point Arthur looked at Molly, and this time he seemed to get the unspoken message and started flagging down a cab. Anna looked bewildered for a moment, but she was so emotionally wrecked that it quickly left her face and the worried expression returned.

Anna




When Anna had picked up the phone, she hadn’t dared to dream that Mr and Mrs Weasley would react as incredibly as they did. They bundled her into a taxi which took them to one of their friends’ houses, where they negotiated using the Floo without the friends even glimpsing Anna, all the while chatting lightly. She stumbled out through their fireplace, the sensation weirdly familiar after so much time. Mrs Weasley, or Molly as she’d asked to be called, summoned a teapot and mugs to the table where the three of them sat, and only then did the serious conversation start.




Anna explained what had happened with Kieran, how the situation had slowly worsened until she’d escaped today. At this point, Molly asked if she’d left because of the baby. Anna couldn’t remember mentioning the pregnancy, but Molly smiled at her bewildered expression and told her that with 7 children she’d learnt to read the signs, and that was why she’d stopped them from apparating. They tried to encourage her to go to the police about Kieran, but Anna couldn’t imagine anything worse. The gentle probing about her injuries felt a little intrusive until she noticed the healing potions and Molly began quietly uttering spells. For the first time in a long time, Anna couldn’t feel the ways he’d harmed her when she moved, and she had a flicker of hope that everything might be OK.




They were just formulating a plan to retrieve her things from the house, when Anna heard a tapping at the window. Her whole body tensed immediately, and she watched in trepidation as Molly opened it with a swish of her wand and the owl swooped in, landing uncomfortably close to her, before holding its leg out for Arthur to take the letter. As he read, he let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and an ‘eurgh’.


“It’s the Ministry. Unidentified non-magical person using the Floo Network... journey ended at this dwelling... standard reminder of the statute...”


“But I thought she was a Squib?”


“She’s been living in the Muggle world for over a decade now though, her parents’ magical residue on her must have worn off.”


“My parents’ what on me?”


Anna stared at the pair with an expression that probably reflected her shock, disgust and fear at the idea of having a residue from her parents’ magic on her. Arthur began to explain.


“When magic is performed it leaves a small amount of residue around it. It naturally gravitates towards living things, so when spells are cast, residue will be left on all those nearby. You can also pick up residue from areas where magic has been used. The residues on witches and wizards are hidden by their own magic, but for someone like you, these residues build up to a level which can be detected and used by magical authorities to identify those people who can see magic without the International Statute of Secrecy being broken.”

Anna took a moment for all of the new information to sink in, knowing the Weasleys were both watching her with matching looks of patience and concern.
“But you think this residue has worn off me because I haven’t been around magic in so long? Does that mean I’m not allowed to see it anymore?”
It was Molly who answered, seemingly defensive of Anna.
“No, of course not, you were born into this world and have as much right as anyone else to be here!”
“I could just go back to the Muggle world though, if it’s a problem...”
“Unfortunately, now they’re aware of you, we have to register you or they’ll come and obliviate you, which is best avoided... The fact that the residues have worn off makes it a little more complicated, we need to fill in a few forms to prove your status, but once everything has been filed then you will be officially recognised as part of this world.”
“Prove my status? How? My parents can’t find out that I’m here, they can’t know-” 

Molly placed a gentle hand on her arm and Arthur cut her off as her panic levels skyrocketed.
“Anna, it’s OK, you’re safe here, we don’t have to contact your parents at all, in fact, neither of them are even allowed near magic at the moment. We won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”
“Are her parents...?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s “obliviate?”
“Erm... it’s a spell that modifies your memory...”
The thought of magic going anywhere near her brain sent a rush of nausea straight to Anna’s stomach. She shivered a little and hoped the other options were preferable.

“If we aren’t contacting my parents, then how do we prove that I’m a Squib? You need a sample to compare against for a DNA test.”
“A DNA test you say? Now is that...”
Arthur’s excited questioning trailed off in response to a stern glare from his wife. Anna would have smiled at the exchange in better circumstances. Currently, she was just feeling drained and unsure, she’d been welcomed with open arms here, but now she was trapped having to prove herself, and her anxiety levels were slowly mounting. Molly seemed to pick up on her sentiments, and in one breath assured her that it would be fine, that she should get some sleep and that they would sort everything out in the morning.

Anna lay in a warm bed which apparently once belonged to the couple’s daughter, and considered how very different this house was, these people were, to the memories she had of her childhood home. Where it had been sparsely filled with antique furniture in large, cold, hollow halls, this place was cluttered, warm and vibrant. The Manor was spacious and sleek, but every corner of this house was crammed full, creating a homely vibe which was far more welcoming than Anna expected of anywhere in the Wizarding World.

The next morning, she awoke to the smell of bread being baked, and dressed in the clothes Molly had found for her the previous night. Wearing her clothes and sleeping in her bed, it was almost as if Anna were stepping into the Weasley’s daughter’s life, which was a slightly uncomfortable thought. The delicious smells intensified as she went downstairs, to find Molly preparing breakfast, surprisingly still wearing a dressing gown, while Arthur read aloud from a letter. Anna was ushered into a chair at the table and fussed over until she had food and tea in front of her and had convinced them that she had slept well.

As they tucked into their breakfasts, the conversation turned to less comfortable topics. 

“So, I told the ministry last night that you were a Squib, but I’m afraid we need to submit the official paperwork today to confirm that with them.”
Anna nodded and took a calming sip of tea.
“There are a few ways to get you recognised as a Squib. The first is through a close relative. I know you said last night that you didn’t want to contact your parents, which is fine and we definitely won’t, but what about Draco, your brother?”
Anna’s eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. She wasn’t completely convinced whether she wanted to see him again at all, but she knew she definitely didn’t want these to be the circumstances if she were to see him.
“Ok, that’s ok, I understand this isn’t easy.”

“There are two other options available to us. The first is that we submit your birth certificate, showing magical parentage. I’m guessing you probably don’t have that, but if we have the exact details from it, we should be able to locate the ministry record. The final option is for you to be questioned by Aurors under veritaserum potion.
“By what under what?”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you might not know these things; Aurors are like the Muggle police, and veritaserum is a potion which makes you tell the truth. Compels you to speak it, in fact. To be honest, it’s a fairly unpleasant experience and if they know your surname they’re unlikely to be too kind with their questions... best to go with the birth certificate if we can.”
Arthur seemed to be almost speaking to himself by the end of this, but he had very effectively convinced Anna that she didn’t want to go anywhere near the “veritaserum” stuff.
“Ok, we can try to find my birth certificate.”

Arthur had finished his breakfast and left for work, promising to send over a form for locating a birth certificate. While they chatted, Molly set the dishes to wash, which confused Anna to the point that her curiosity got the better of her and she couldn’t help but ask,
“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you have a house elf to do that for you? Or do you just really like housework or something?”
Molly stiffened immediately, and Anna worried she’d offended her, especially after she’d been so unwaveringly kind.
“I’m sorry, I ju-“
“No dear, it’s ok. But no, we don’t have a house elf. Only the... only the old, rich wizarding families have house elves.”
“Oh, sorry, I guess I just always thought everything magical would be like it was... there. It’s so different to what I expected, I mean, it’s nothing like the Manor here, it’s-”
“Messy?” Molly offered with a smile.

“I was going to say homely! The Manor was always so echoey and empty...”
Molly laughed at that, but she seemed pleased, and Anna was glad she didn’t seem to be taking offence.

Molly




Really, Molly felt like she should have become immune to disaster by now, considering all of the crises she’d endured as a mother. Yet somehow, she still struggled to maintain her composure when hit by the onslaught of emotions they brought. Granted, the emotions were never exactly the same. She’d been terrified and helpless during Ginny’s kidnap, felt a strange mix of anger, worry and regret when Bill was attacked, caught between crippling anxiety, outrage and understanding when Ron had disappeared with Harry and Hermione and overwhelmed, overcome and overwrought but still running on adrenaline when... in the battle, and that wasn’t even starting on the confusing blur Harry had caused that same day. There had, of course, been countless other smaller dramas, but they all paled in comparison to the major ones. She should have stopped being surprised, but somehow they still managed to catch her off guard.




This time, her maternal instincts had been strongly invoked for someone who wasn’t even a child, let alone one of her own (which had long included Harry). It had been a significant struggle to keep a neutral, calm face while healing Anna’s injuries last night, without releasing the infernal rage she felt towards the bastard that had caused them. She had been very close to hunting the wanker down and hexing his bollocks clean off, it made her furious just thinking about what he’d done. Molly tried to compose herself and remember that Anna was scared, in a new environment and needed help in the form of emotional support, not angry wand waving.




When the ministry paperwork arrived, it came with a note from Arthur saying he’d gone to the gallery and warded her artwork to protect them. Anna looked close to crying with relief, and Molly was inordinately pleased to see her light up with enthusiasm for her paintings, making her seem truly alive for the first time since they’d met. Regretfully, she had to break the moment of happiness in the otherwise dejected girl to urgently complete the paperwork; Arthur had already used his name to delay the process but there was a very real risk of obliviators showing up soon.




Although Anna took a little while getting used to the feel of writing with a quill, she was content to fill in the form alone while Molly sorted laundry. When she took the completed form to check over, she had quite a shock. Discovering this was Draco’s sister had been enough of a surprise, but to find out that the girl didn’t even have the same name as she’d thought? That had Molly both mortified and somewhat confused. Anna brushed the bombshell off, saying that they’d misheard her on the station that day, but she hadn’t cared enough then to correct them. In reaction to Molly’s continued guilty, horrified expression, Anna explained that she had actually appreciated the change of name, it represented the new person she’d had to become and it fitted in better in the Muggle world. It was like those first years with Harry all over again, random off-handed comments that popped up in conversation and made Molly’s heart ache.




Anna assured her that she preferred not to be called Ara, partly because she wasn’t that child anymore, and partly because there was a lingering terror within her that her parents would discover her, and the name change made her feel safer. Molly didn’t dare ask where the fear originated, wary of both making Anna uncomfortable and what she’d find out, not that her opinion of the Malfoy parents could sink much lower than it already was. 

That afternoon, Molly took on the role of formidable bodyguard while Anna gathered the things she’d had to abandon at Kieran’s place. A little while and a couple of spells later, Molly was hitching a rucksack filled with Anna’s shrunken possessions onto her back. In a moment of rebellion and in an attempt to relieve the upsetting downtrodden look on Anna’s face, Molly decided that they should leave a little something for Kieran in addition to the keys. They couldn’t leave anything magical, but being Fred and George’s mother had not taught her nothing. The amusement, awe and vindication on Anna’s face was well worth the uncharacteristic behaviour on Molly’s part when she deposited the fish they’d found in the fridge neatly into a concealed spot in the airing cupboard, where it would only be discovered when the house filled with the putrid smell of it rotting. It was hardly the justice the scumbag deserved, but Anna was now suppressing laughter, and that would have to be enough.

Molly was eager to see the gallery, so they stopped there before they left. She slowly walked through the exhibition, thoroughly impressed and understanding how Arthur could tell the art was the work a Squib. Anna appeared to inflate with every compliment paid to her work. There were a couple of pieces which made Molly realise Anna had memories from the first war, before Harry’s parents had saved them, and she shuddered at the number of horrors the poor girl had witnessed in her short life. Her favourite work was an image of a house elf, pale against a blurred dark background, the paint somehow portraying very clearly the sentiment held by the servant, a mix of earnestness, anxiety and genuine care radiating off the canvas. 

Anna

Anna was relieved to hear that Arthur had successfully managed to retrieve her birth certificate and officially register her as a Squib. She finally had time to get the paints she’d neglected for too long back out again, which gave her a different but equally welcome sense of relief. 

Molly had bought an excessive number of Muggle pregnancy books “because I’m not sure you can take potions and we need to keep the baby healthy”, and had arranged an appointment with the local Muggle doctor. Having someone taking care of her felt very alien, but it was very nice to be able to relax and let someone else do some of the worrying. She tried to ignore her niggling guilt; she knew that she was welcome in the Burrow, Arthur had even confided that Molly was enjoying having someone to fuss over, however she also knew that she couldn’t stay indefinitely, that this blissful moment of peace and safety was temporary and she would have to strike out alone again at some point.

On Saturday, Molly explained that they would be hosting a family lunch the next day. Anna was aware that the family was large, so there would be at least 15 new faces there for Sunday lunch, all of them magical. The logical part of her brain knew that anyone the Weasleys trusted would welcome her with open arms, but the part of her that was still Ara was quite frankly terrified that so many witches and wizards knowing about her would somehow lead to her parents finding out and coming to finish what they’d started. She just couldn’t take that risk. So the next morning, she took the lunch Molly had packed and wandered along the footpaths near the house until she found an airy, pleasant spot with a view to sit and paint the day away.

Hours later, she made her way back down the winding path, through woodland and fields, back towards the Burrow. She was already halfway up the garden path when she heard shouts coming from within the house. She froze, paralysed with fear. She had just caught a flash of white blond hair, the exact same pale shade as her own, when a broad, muscular, ginger man burst out of the front door, grabbed her by the arm and the world around her fell away.

The adrenaline was rushing through her veins, the fear and panic fuelling her fight or flight response, until she recognised that they were in the bedroom in which she’d been staying and saw the soft, concerned look on the face of the man who had now let go of her arm.
“Are you OK?”
Anna just kind of nodded, eyes slightly glassy as she recovered from the shock of the last few minutes.
“I’m sorry about that. Malfoy burst into the house just as I was leaving, shouting something about his sister at my Dad, and then I looked out the window and saw you and you looked so scared and I just acted on impulse and, well, here we are...”
Anna’s head was whirring with all of the new information buzzing through her head.

“I didn’t want to freak you out, take you somewhere you didn’t recognise, and I figured you’d be in Gin’s room if you were staying here, so that’s why I disapparated you to here.”
This cut through the trance Anna had been in.
“That... that was apparating?”
“Yeah...”
The concerned expression on his face shifted to one of confusion as her eyes widened.
“I’m, I’m not meant to... Molly said, because... because of the baby.”
She could see the moment he understood, horror filling his face.
“Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I didn’t even consider... I just wanted to get you out of there, make sure you were safe.”
“It’s ok, you couldn’t have known.”
Anna’s tone was dejected as she moved a hand over her stomach, worry flooding her, no clue as to how what just happened would affect the little life inside her. Would she lose her baby?

Luckily, he seemed to understand her fear.
“I’m really sorry, but you know, not apparating while pregnant is just a precaution, there haven’t been many cases at all of it affecting anything, and even fewer in the early stages. We can get a healer to check, but it was only a very short distance we travelled, so it should all be OK. Does anything feel any different?”
Anna shook her head, the anxiety beginning to ease. Nothing had changed in the way she felt, so hopefully it would be OK. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now anyway.

“Thank you, for, you know...”
“Oh no, no need to thank me, I’m just sorry I apparated with you.”
“I’m Anna, by the way.”
“Charlie, nice to meet you, Anna... though if I’m honest, I’m surprised you’re not named after a constellation, if you’re really Malfoy’s sister?”
“I was, they called me Ara, but when... in the Muggle world I’ve always been Anna.”
Something unreadable passed in Charlie’s eyes, but it seemed he knew not to push the subject.

The sound of the front door slamming brought their attention back to the argument downstairs. Charlie went to find out what was going on, leaving Anna reeling in the events of the last five minutes. She had been so relaxed and at ease, but now suddenly it felt as if she were a small boat in the middle of a stormy sea all over again. Molly knocked softly on her door a few moments later, carrying a cup of sweet tea and unnecessary apologies. She explained how Draco had shown up at their house out of the blue, demanding to see his sister. He’d become angry when they had refused to say a word on the subject, but had eventually left when they’d threatened to call the Aurors.

Arthur and Charlie were reinforcing the wards around the property, to both stop intruders and alert them if someone tried to get in. This gave Anna some reassurance, especially when Molly proudly stated that her son worked with dragons, and if he could stop them getting out, he could certainly stop someone getting in.

Over supper that evening, they discussed Draco’s unannounced visit. He’d apparently hired a private investigator to search for her, who in turn had seen the birth certificate retrieval form and informed her brother. Unfortunately, birth certificates were public records, so could not be made confidential like Squib registrations, and neither could the name of those submitting requests for them, in this case Arthur. They couldn’t say why he wanted to find her, but they doubted he would kill her, at least not personally, which wasn’t altogether reassuring. It became even less so when the Weasleys collectively decided it was time they filled her in on the events of the war, and their conversation took a very dark turn. 

Anna wasn’t sure whether she was relieved that her brother hadn’t had the heart to kill a respected wizard, or horrified that he’d been instructed to do so in the first place. That her mother had been on the “dark” side but had risked everything to find her son mid-battle was equally disorientating. Anna couldn’t make out which side of the moral fence that put her mother, and it proved her love for her son, which was as reassuring as it was heartbreaking when she had been so far from loving her daughter that she’d ordered her murder. 

At least Anna’s opinion of her father was unshakeable. She was horrified, mortified and ashamed to be biologically related to the prejudiced and evil man, but somehow her disgust was easier to comprehend. She simply unequivocally denounced and disowned him.

Unfortunately, going over the history did not help any of them figure out exactly why her brother had stormed in today. The most likely option was that he was ashamed to be related to a Squib, but considering the thin ice Draco was on following the war, he was unlikely to do more than try to scare her back to the Muggle world, if that were the case. There was still an optimistic part of Anna that remembered the innocent little brother she’d played with and made laugh. In the end, she felt she owed it to Ara, to the girl she had been, to at least give Draco the chance to prove that that boy still lived somewhere within him, even knowing that it would crush her if her hope was proven to be foolish.

Draco




Draco had been nearing the stage where he accepted that his sister had vanished without a trace and would never be found, when the private investigator came through with the information. There had been a few false leads, a Scottish witch who turned out to be too old to have been his sister, a Muggle-born who was the right age and had been discovered close to the Manor, but far too early to have been Ara. Draco had tried not to get his hopes up. He had a good feeling about this one though, especially when he’d seen that every single detail on the birth certificate retrieval form was accurate.




Looking back, turning up unannounced and demanding information from people who actively hated him probably hadn’t been the smartest approach. He’d done things more idiotic in the past, but he still felt like he’d let down Salazar Slytherin himself in his total lack of planning. At least the trip hadn’t been entirely fruitless, as he was now sure that both of the Weasley parents knew something, and the son had disappeared, potentially to find Ara.




Considering that the Mother Weasel had brought down his terrifying aunt, Draco decided that poking that bees’ nest again was inadvisable, so unless he could get the Muggle loving Weasel alone, he’d need a different plan of attack, rather than firing questions until someone answered. What that plan would be had yet to come to him. He was too out of practice at scheming. Then again, considering the number of times his assassination plots had failed, maybe he’d never been that good at plotting in the first place. He shivered at the uncomfortable flashback, and tried to focus on the task at hand. 

By the next morning, he was almost out of his mind with frustration, and still hadn’t come up with an adequate plan. Having no work that day, he took breakfast late, only for an owl bearing a letter to tap on the window as soon as he sat down to eat. 

Dear Draco,
Were you sent to the Burrow yesterday by our parents?
Ara
P.S. please send your reply addressed to Molly Weasley
It wasn’t much, but it was something. He quickly scrawled out a reply and returned it with the bird that had arrived moments before.
Dear Ara,
Our parents don’t even know I went there. Are you in contact with them?
Draco

It took just over 3 hours for the owl to return, which Draco couldn’t help but think matched the time a bird would take to fly to Devon and back. The response was almost as short as the first letter.
Dear Draco,
Do they know you’ve been trying to find me? What have you told them? Are you planning on telling them you’ve contacted me?
Ara seemed to be unduly concerned with what their parents knew. Draco rolled his eyes, of course the Weasleys had filled her head with only the worst details about his family. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to reassure her that he wouldn’t tell them. The letter finished in the same guarded manner. 

What do you want from me?
Ara
It seemed Draco would have to show his hand if he wanted to get anywhere with this.

It was an uncomfortable experience, trying to write an honest letter, especially knowing that this actually mattered. Since the trial, nothing had been that important for Draco, nothing had held any real significance to his life, nothing desperately needed to be done right first time. It was as if he were back in an exam at Hogwarts; he could not mess this up. Eventually, he decided his fourth draft would have to do, and watched in trepidation as the owl whisked it away.

Dear Ara,
I can assure you that, other than the initial questions I posed to Mother when I first found your birth certificate, I have not spoken to either of our parents about you. I haven’t actually spoken to Father in months, I’m sure the Weasleys will explain how hard it has been to contact him since the war. I’m not honestly sure whether Mother realised I didn’t buy her “your sister died of dragon pox” story. Clearly, I was right not to believe her, but as she was intent on fabricating lies, I did not push her for more. I will certainly not be mentioning you again with her unless you unequivocally demand that I do so.

To respond to your enquiry as to what I want from you, I’m afraid I have to give you an uncomfortable truth. After your disappearance from my life, our parents denied that you had ever existed. On multiple occasions, I remember them referring to my “imaginary sister”. I was very young when I knew you, which somehow made it possible for them to simply write you out of my memory. Reflecting on the situation now, I can only gather that after a certain level of ridicule for having dreamt up a sister who was not real, I must have repressed the true memories I had of you. I cannot tell you how very sorry I am to have done this.

I found your birth certificate and some photographs in which you feature whilst sorting through Father’s old desk. It was only once I had seen this confirmation that I could trust the memories from my childhood, and all of those I repressed came flooding back to me. Considering Mother’s displeasing response to my queries, I am still completely in the dark as to how and why my memories of you suddenly stop. Though you owe me absolutely nothing, I would be touched if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, at least enough to explain how we became estranged when we were once so close.

I understand that you have likely heard about the role I played in the war, and that I will look most unfavourable, especially given your present company. I know that it is too much to hope that we will be able to return to the relationship we had as children, but family is important, and I believe we both have very little at present. Every memory I have with you is filled with warmth and laughter. I would be incredibly pleased with any contact you may permit.

Your Brother,
Draco

Anna




Anna’s hands shook as she unrolled the long parchment sent by her brother. As with the previous letter, Molly had checked it for anything malicious before handing it to her. Seeing its length, she was now hovering nearby, poised to offer comfort and support. It was obvious that she was trying hard not to pry by reading the words Draco had sent, for which Anna was grateful. By the time she had reached the end of the letter, she was shocked to speechlessness. Wordlessly, she passed the letter to Molly, who had no such issues with vocalising her reaction.




“Serves Lucius right... She said WHAT?! I cannot believe she told him you were... I mean, it was bad enough when I had to tell people Ron had spattergroit, I felt terrible saying it, and that was his idea and was to keep him safe, this, this is just unthinkable! How could a mother say that about her baby! There’s nothing worse... to say that when she hasn’t...”


Molly trailed off as tears filled her eyes. It seemed an overreaction, from her comments she hadn’t got past the first paragraph, which actually hadn’t been what had got to Anna. After a few deep breaths, Molly apologised and gestured towards a clock like device on the wall which showed every member of her family. When Anna’s gaze landed on the hand marked “Fred” and pointing to “At Peace”, she suddenly realised why reading about a mother carelessly announcing her alive daughter to be dead would hit the woman so hard, and instantly felt guilty for having shown her the letter. A second later, Molly was exclaiming in disbelief again, having recovered enough to return to the letter.




“They told him WHAT?! ... Oh no, no, now, come on... no, he can’t possibly have... no, I just don’t believe it... how on earth does someone forget their own sibling? How could he have done that? How could his parents have told him that! I knew they were morally corrupt, but this really takes the biscuit... he does sound very contrite...”


The further she got into the letter the less incredulous and the quieter Molly became, with the exception of a loud snort and an exclamation accompanied by a slight head shake. 

“Present company! He’s definitely said worse!”

A minute later she had finished reading, and turned her tear streaked face back to Anna.

Anna surprised herself with the statement that came out first, as she hadn’t made the realisation until it was tumbling out of her mouth.
“He doesn’t know I’m a Squib.”
“No, I guess he doesn’t.”
“He... when my parents started to suspect... they separated us. I hadn’t seen him for 2 years when I... they say permanent memories start to form at the age of 5, so I guess...”
“So he would have been too young to realise you couldn’t do magic?”
Anna nodded.
“Do you think he’d have said all that, if he knew?”
“I... I couldn’t say for certain dear, if I’m completely honest. I can tell you that I don’t think he would have when he was a boy; I’ve heard stories from his school days, but that was a long time ago now. A lot has happened and I can’t name one person who hasn’t changed. I’m afraid I haven’t heard enough about him since the war to know the person he is today. There is always hope that he has given up some of the prejudices that once drove him, but it is also true that you don’t owe him anything, including second chances. We will support you no matter what you decide, but at the end of the day, I believe this is a choice you must make for yourself.”

Anna knew that seeing Draco would mean explaining everything that had lead her to where she was now. She had never spoken about what had happened when she was younger. The Weasleys knew the part of the story for which they had been present, however Anna had never been brave enough to verbalise how she’d ended up at that station. She knew that in some ways her fear of saying the words was irrational, but going back to that day still stung when it was contained in her head, and she couldn’t imagine how it would feel if she let it out. She had learnt to keep everything buried deep inside her, keeping her cards to her chest with her artwork the only outlet where she let others see a fraction of what went on inside. She’d built her defences so fiercely that a full blown moat now accompanied the walls, and letting anyone in after so much time was more than intimidating.

On the other hand, the question she’d held since she had last seen him, the one which she had poured into her most treasured painting, still plagued her. Her baby brother would remain lost until she reconnected with him, so even if he turned out to be everything she feared he wouldn’t, it would at least put an end to the wondering. It seemed to Anna that she could either bite the bullet now, or put it off until an undefined date in the future. When she looked at it that way, and she considered the unconditional support she was currently being afforded, only one option seemed possible.

Draco




After the owl disappeared with his words, Draco had stared at the horizon for what felt like a long time, before shaking himself and heading to the library, where he could lose himself in a book until Ara’s reply. His selected title had been open at the same page for nearly 2 hours when his elf offered him dinner. After eating, he gave up all attempts at distraction and resigned himself to envisioning every possible way his sister could reject him, and listing every reason why she would be absolutely right to do so. At some point he must have fallen asleep, because the sun had already risen high in the sky when he awoke to the distinct sound of a bird tapping on glass.




All traces of drowsiness left him instantly as he scrambled to read what his sister had written, only to find that the letter had not been sent by Ara at all.





Malfoy,










Ara has decided that she would like to meet you in person. Against our better judgement, we have agreed to organise this with you. You should know that we are doing this because we want to support Ara and trust her to make her own judgment on your character. Do not believe for a minute that we have afforded you the same trust. The following arrangements are non-negotiable. If you want to see Ara, you will do exactly as instructed. If you deviate even a little, the deal will be off and you will not be allowed to see her. I hope I have made myself clear.







Draco’s normally immaculate posture crumpled slightly in reaction to the thinly veiled threats. It was crystal clear that they had absolutely no confidence in him, which while understandable considering his past, still stung to read. He sighed and rubbed his furrowed brow before returning to the hostile words.

The meeting will take place tomorrow. You are NOT to bring your wand. It must be left at your home. Do not even think about bringing it.
Our property and Floo connection are heavily warded and we will not be adding your signature to them. As you cannot apparate without a wand and we do not want to get a Portkey approved, we have made arrangements via Muggle transport. Please follow the instructions to the letter. Muggle money to cover the expenses is attached, as I assume you do not have any.

The further Draco got into the paragraph, the deeper the weight that had lodged itself in his chest sank. No wand, and Muggle transport. Was this a trap? He knew that one of the Weasley twins had died in the battle, was this some kind of twisted revenge? Were they removing his weapon so he’d be defenceless to attack? Somehow, he couldn’t quite believe that. They were Gryffindors, so probably held some bullshit belief about that being dishonourable or cowardly. A deliberate attempt to humiliate him sounded more likely and also explained the Muggle transport element. Salazar, if Father were to see him bowing to blood traitors and using Muggle transport! The idea was utterly horrifying, a sentiment which only became more entrenched as he read on.

You are to walk to the nearest Muggle village, Movayton. I think your Mum lives there. Opposite the pub (The Pheasant’s Feather), you will find a bus stop. Bus stops are normally marked by a post with timetables on it. The bus should arrive at 9.43am, but be ready before that as they can come early, and often come late. Ask for a single ticket to Salisbury. Use the blue £5 notes for buses. You need the final stop. When you get off the bus, you need to get onto a different bus headed to the station. It should have a number 12 in large letters on the front and go from near Debenhams. You will have to buy a new ticket. The station will be obviously marked with “Salisbury”, but if you’re unsure, ask the bus driver. Go inside the station building and buy a ticket to Exeter St David’s using the pink £50 note. Make sure you get onto the right platform number for your train. The train leaves at 11.57am and should take about 2 hours. You will be met on the platform when you get off the train in Exeter.

Draco was shaking in a mixture of fear, disgust and outrage by the time he finished the instructions. The first two sentiments were attributed entirely to his impending close proximity with Muggles. He would be trapped. In a train carriage. Surrounded by Muggles. A lot of Muggles. For two hours. Without his wand! The outrage was directed at the Weasleys for the ridiculously convoluted route and the patronising level of detail in which it had been conveyed. Frankly, he felt his intelligence had been insulted, he had two NEWTs in Muggle knowledge! The memory of the ghastly classes triggered a sudden realisation in Draco. This was a test. In a contempt-filled parallel with the Ministry’s attempt to educate his prejudice away, the Weasleys were assessing his tolerance.

Please let us know that you consent to the above plan, and confirm that we will be seeing you tomorrow in Exeter.

Arthur Weasley

Draco took a minute to consider his options. He was highly uncomfortable with most of the listed stipulations, particularly the prohibition of his wand. Irritatingly, the letter was too explicit for any Slytherin “interpretation” which could alleviate some of his malaise. Either he could follow the instructions to the letter, or he would fail their test and consequently never see his own sister. It was very grudgingly that he scrawled out an affirmative response.

By the time he had found a seat on the train, Draco was nearly prepared to admit that Arthur’s precision in the travel plan had been necessary. Navigating the Muggle way was terribly complex and confusing. He was also very dearly missing the ability to Scourgify . How the Muggles permitted such levels of grime, he did not understand. The buses had been the worst. He had initially resisted sitting on the vulgar upholstery, but quickly decided the revolting seats were preferable to being flung onto the disgustingly vile floor. He shuddered at the mere memory of lying there spread eagled while the Muggles laughed, and settled himself firmly into the bizarrely carpeted train seat. Muggle transport was almost as hellish as living with a snake-faced serial killer.

Charlie

His father had insisted they arrive at the station over an hour before the train they expected Malfoy to have caught ‘just in case he’d got the earlier one’. Charlie knew that wouldn’t be the case, but his Dad was so excited about entering the Muggle world that he hadn’t protested. He was currently sat beside him, explaining in great detail how he’d used something called the interweb to create a foolproof plan. Charlie sipped the coffee he’d bought at the station café, and smiled fondly at the enthusiasm radiated in his Dad’s tone. He secretly appreciated being able to help his parents out with this, for once not too far away to be of assistance.

When the train finally pulled in, the Weasley men moved in synchrony; shoulders tensed, right hands shooting down to clutch wands inside pockets, eyes scanning the disembarking passengers and jaws set in grim determination. Charlie barely knew Malfoy, but what he had been told painted the image of an untrustworthy bully, without even considering his Death Eater status. He himself only knew of Anna’s existence by chance; only being home a few weeks a year meant he always delayed ending visits with his parents. Anna had been very clear that she wanted as few people as possible to know about her, so his siblings had been given a vague excuse when asked to be on standby this morning, rather than being here already as backup.

A flash of blond hair signalled Malfoy’s descent  from the carriage. Father and son moved together towards the man whose face flickered with worry before being schooled into an expression Charlie considered somewhere between conceited and bored. Having caught the moment of concern, he realised that the unpleasant mask was Malfoy’s way of defending himself against vulnerability. If he had truly left his wand at home, he would be feeling terribly exposed at the sight of two men clearly gripping concealed wands. His Dad gave him a brief look of horror as Charlie brought his right hand up, empty, for Malfoy to shake as he introduced himself.

The simple gesture was effective, and Malfoy appeared to relax a smidgen as they walked out towards the car park. Charlie hadn’t yet let his guard down, but he refused to treat people with anything less than fairness. Once they were in Arthur’s prized Muggle car (this one not charmed to fly like its predecessor, thank Merlin), Charlie’s Dad turned in the driver’s seat to face them, and gave Malfoy his second ultimatum. They had decided to keep this one a surprise, thinking it may put him off coming.

“Ara came to us for help and protection. We take that very seriously. She has asked to meet you, but considering your past, we need proof that you are not planning on causing her any harm. Either you agree to being questioned under the influence of Veritaserum, or you retrace your steps back home right now. Your choice.”
The impassive mask had slipped from Malfoy’s face and the combined fear and devastation were clearly visible, but when he spoke, the words were crisp and even.
“It is bold of you to assume I will be blackmailed into revealing my innermost thoughts. I must admit, I did not consider you capable of such Slytherin masterminding. Are you aware that I lived with the Dark Lord once?”
“I can assure you, I have no interest in anything other than Ara’s welfare. We will only ask relevant questions.”
“Asking for my trust in your word? How hypocritical. What dosage do you propose I will be force fed?”

Charlie had had enough of the ridiculous power struggle and decided to cut to the chase.
“Honestly Malfoy, we’re very clearly giving you the option not to take the potion, no one’s force feeding you anything. You’re free to go back home now, if that’s what you want. We’ve got a very dilute, small dose, so it’ll wear off in about 5 minutes, we just want to check you aren’t planning on murdering the girl and you don’t have your wand. OK? Now make up your bloody mind for Godric’s sake.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a barely audible “OK” as Malfoy’s hand darted out to grab the vial from Arthur’s hand, tipping his head back as he downed the truth potion in one.

Draco




Seething. He was absolutely seething. With the Weasleys, for their malicious plotting, and with himself, for having been outwitted and caught unawares. It was one thing to know that you were despised, another to have said distrust and hatred brutally displayed and demanding recognition. Draco ground out the simplest possible answers to all of their absurd questions. His wand was at the Manor, he did not want to murder any Muggles, nor any Muggle-borns, nor blood traitors, including all Weasleys, nor Squibs, and certainly not his own sister! The mere suggestion was obscenely offensive and he expressed as much.




It was the longest 5 minutes of his life, but eventually they decided they had tortured him enough and ceased their interrogation. Charlie appeared to be struggling to breathe through his hysterical laughter at Draco’s description of his unfortunate tumble on the bus. Draco did not find the memory even mildly amusing, and had taken to glaring at the imbecile. Apparently satisfied, Arthur spun in his seat and started to drive.




Draco’s very limited knowledge of Muggle transport was enough to inform him that Arthur was not a skilled driver. The bus had positively glided in comparison. He was flabbergasted to discover that the only thing supposedly ensuring his safety was the flimsy belt crossing his shoulder and wrapping around his waist. Were Muggles suicidal? His immense relief when the car finally stopped hurtling around sharp bends was almost immediately overshadowed by the intense nervousness triggered when it dawned on him that he was genuinely about to meet his long lost sister, who would very likely have the same attitude towards him as the family who had nominated themselves her protectors. He was, to put it mildly, doomed.




They pulled up in front of the most ramshackle, precarious house Draco had ever seen. His idle judgment of the architecture was interrupted by the front door being flung open to reveal a woman who could only be Molly Weasley. She was giving him a positively glacial glare. What a charming welcome. He was ushered into a cluttered and inelegant kitchen, and guided into a seat at a round table. The Weasleys arranged themselves on either side of Draco, leaving a space directly opposite him. He was grateful for the tea they offered, despite it being served in a plebeian mug rather than a proper cup and saucer. The cold looks were growing wearisome by the time the door behind the free seat opened.




Ara stepped into the room, and Draco was struck by how she simultaneously looked familiar and different. Her eyes were the same steely shade as Draco’s, and she had their father’s nose and their mother’s smile, but her characteristic Malfoy blonde hair fell in loose waves, making it appear softer than the sleek, stark lines of their parents’ style. Her expression was more open and kind than the rest of the family, which was perhaps the most alien element of her appearance. After a minute of taking each other in, she broke the silence as she sat down.


“You look a lot like our father.”


Draco snorted. 

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”
Ara laughed. 

“I don’t know, you tell me!”
And just like that, the tension in the room dissipated.

The conversation flowed freely from childhood memories to Draco’s career. There was some awkwardness when they broached the subject of their parents, the war and their sentences, but Ara had already been vaguely aware of the situation, so the specifics weren’t too painful to disclose. When she asked about his current state of mind, he found he couldn’t lie to her, so told her honestly that he just wasn’t sure what to think about any of it anymore, which she seemed to accept. They had been talking for over an hour when he finally worked up the courage to introduce the topic of her disappearance, life since and sudden reappearance. 

Draco understood the words Ara had spoken; it was what they implicated that he was struggling to comprehend. She was a Squib. The careful preservation of magical blood through generations of his pure-blood line had been for naught, if it had still resulted in the birth of a Squib. Everything Draco had been taught about the inheritance of magic seemed to crash around him. This shouldn’t be possible. Unless Mother had been unfaithful to Father with a Muggle? That idea seemed unfathomable, especially given Ara’s familial resemblance.

He was drawn from his dazed reverie by Molly saying his name. When his eyes refocused, he found Ara watching him carefully with a look of apprehension, concern and sadness. He cleared his throat and attempted to speak.
“I-I’m sorry. Just, that-that shouldn’t be possible. We’re pure-bloods. I-I don’t understand.”
He was aware of the pitying looks directed at him from around the table, as Ara gave a quiet explanation that contradicted everything he had ever believed to be true.

Once the shock of discovering his sister’s Squib status had worn off enough that Draco’s cognitive abilities returned, Ara started to recount the tale that had brought her to where they were now. She began with the day of their rebellion out of the Manor and into the neighbouring barley fields, and ended with her being rescued by the people still sat with them. Draco felt sick to the stomach by the time she finished. He had still been reeling from the Squib shock, and had not been ready for the barrage of colliding emotions Ara’s story had provoked.

He wished he could not believe their parents would order their own child’s assassination, but the war had long ago cast away the illusions he had held that his parents were flawless. Their father was ruthless and knew no mercy. Their mother too had been complicit in multiple brutal murders, but she had risked so much for Draco’s safety, it didn’t make sense to him that a genetic flaw could entirely reverse her feelings towards her offspring.

From the level of poorly concealed rage coming from the Weasleys, it seemed it was the first they’d been told of the murder plot. They accused Draco of being in denial when he questioned whether it had been both parents that the elf heard. Ara didn’t seem to have considered this possibility, and agreed he could maybe ask the house elf. When she recalled its name being something like Dabby or Dotty, Molly sucked in a gasp. 

“Not Dobby?!?” 

At Molly’s description of Dobby’s sad ending, Draco had a flashback to the moments after his Aunt Bellatrix fatally threw that knife, reliving both his sheer terror and the punishment he had endured for being uncertain and for losing their wands.

He would have been surprised by the Weasleys’ tact, if he hadn’t been so grateful to them for pretending not to notice his panic attack and deliberately lightening the topic of conversation. When he came back to himself, Molly was recounting how she’d planted a fish to rot in the bastard who had dared to hurt Ara’s house, and Charlie was crying with laughter. Draco’s odd pride in Molly’s actions was altogether disconcerting. It seemed they had found his humiliating display of vulnerability endearing, as if he had now proven himself to be human. These people made no sense to Draco, he expected condemnation or showing weakness, not an invitation to stay for dinner.

For the remainder of the day, it seemed they had an unspoken agreement to avoid the dark crevasses from the past that lay between them. The siblings somehow found some common ground, on which Draco hoped they had begun to lay the foundation for a future where they played a part in each other’s lives. When it came time for him to leave, before Charlie gripped his arm to whisk him back to Wiltshire, Ara wrapped her arms around him and whispered “I’m glad you’re still in there, baby brother”. The warm embrace and affectionate tone acted as both a promise and a comfort to Draco.

Anna/Ara

Over the next few weeks, Anna’s trust in Draco grew steadily. That first meeting, she had been downright terrified, her only comfort being the Weasleys’ promise to protect her. Together, they had decided not to disclose her Muggle identity, nor her pregnancy. Arthur and Charlie hadn’t detailed their plans to verify her brother’s sincerity before he arrived that day, only promising that he definitely wouldn't have his wand. Draco had since lamented Muggle public transport and Arthur’s driving, so she knew they’d made him travel by non-magical means. Though his reactions were all negative, his having endured the discomfort to meet her had confirmed that he was genuine.

Draco began to show up regularly at the Burrow, and after a few visits the Weasleys started to trust him enough that they updated their wards so he could come and go as he pleased, regardless of whether the family were home. Anna was grateful to them for being so incredibly accommodating, and as she gradually met more and more of Charlie’s siblings and their partners, she found they were the most welcoming, understanding and lovely humans she could have hoped to meet, to an extent that was almost overwhelming at times. Draco avoided days when he knew the house would be busy, apparently there was more water under the bridge between him and some of them for it to stay in the river, and he didn’t want to ruin everything by getting his feet wet. 

Anna was painting Draco’s portrait early one afternoon when he questioned how his private detective hadn’t found her through her art. She focused her eyes on her brush strokes as she explained that she wasn’t Ara Malfoy in the Muggle world. The faint sound of paint on canvas was the only thing to be heard. After a minute, Anna looked up, to see Draco staring at his hands. When he finally spoke, it was quiet.
“You don’t have to tell me. I get it. I know... you have every reason not to trust me. I wouldn’t trust me if I knew what I’d done, if I were in your position.”
“It’s Anna. Anna King.”
“What?”
“My name. Anna King is the person I’ve been since... When they found me on the station I was crying so heavily they thought I said my name was Anna, and I was too distressed to care enough to correct them. And I couldn’t tell them my surname because that would lead them back to our parents. So eventually someone said it should be King, as I was found in King’s Cross Station.”

Draco took a minute to respond, but when he did, his voice was barely a whisper. There were silent tears sliding down his cheeks, showing that he understood the gravity of her revelation.
“Thank you. I’m... Thank you. For telling me. For letting me back into your life. I’m-I’m so sorry. For what they did. For what happened. For...”
He took a deep breath and swallowed.
“For not remembering. I-I’m just so sorry.”

It was as if the invisible barrier between them, the heavy weight of the past, had lifted. Anna hadn’t realised until he said it how much had she needed to hear that apology. Only now could she close the door on all of the hurt, the pain and the resentment she had carried for so long. 

“It’s... thank you. I think I needed to hear that somehow. But, it’s not your fault. It never was. We both suffered in our own ways at the hands of our parents, I know that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you through the horror they inflicted. But... but I think we need to try to stop feeling guilty now. It’s over, and we can move forward from this.”

They hugged for a long time, their crying disrupted by smiles and occasional shaking laughter. Anna let the relief wash over her, as she melted into the arms of the little brother who had grown up from the boy she remembered. When they finally broke apart, she told him there was something she wanted to show him. They took the Floo out of Devon, and were soon entering the large glass doors of the gallery. As they entered her exhibit, Draco’s movements slowed, and his eyes went wide as he tried to take in all of the artwork. When he looked at her, his face blatantly showed the awe and pride he felt for his big sister.

Anna guided him through the works until they were standing in front of the large painting of a great dragon rising up over a golden field. His gaze traced over every detail before he spoke.
“It’s that day.”
Anna nodded.
“I started painting when I was a teenager. One of my teachers suggested it as a way of expressing what I couldn’t say out loud. This one is my most treasured piece, I guess I kind of put everything I still felt towards you into it. A lot of the fights I had with... with him were about this. He wanted me to give it to him, but I couldn’t let go of it. It would have been like letting go of you, I guess.”
She kept her eyes trained on the painting as Draco quietly listened.
“It’s funny, if I hadn’t left him, I would never have made contact again with the Weasleys, and you never would have found me.”
Draco gave a soft huff of amusement.
“If you’d told me when I was eleven that I would one day be grateful to Weasleys, I would have laughed in your face. But I am grateful.”
“Me too.”

As the sun slipped lower in the sky, the pair walked out of the gallery’s main doors, out into a street lined with little independent shops and cute cafés. The steps were so familiar to Anna, but she tried to view her life through the eyes of her brother, who was trying to take everything in by her side. Draco peppered her with questions about everything from the appeal of “tennyvision” to how close by she had used to live. When she first told him about her Squib status, she thought she’d seen some dismay among the shock, and she could sometimes hear touches of disdain and judgement when they spoke about Muggle life, but he was very clearly trying to understand and to overcome his deeply entrenched prejudice.

Anna laughed out loud at Draco’s total horror when he found out she regularly used public transport. His outrage increased as she explained that learning to drive and owning a car cost far more than her wages allowed. His mouth hung open for a second. The dread washed over her as she considered her precarious financial situation. It was clear he was realising just how unstable her income was, and she couldn’t suppress the slight embarrassment at her little brother knowing this.
His mouth snapped shut, and he drew his shoulders back and straightened up, before he spoke somewhat stiffly. 

“After the war, our parents were stripped of their wealth. Mother still has a monthly stipend from the vaults, but Father is banned from accessing Wizarding money. Once a portion had been taken in war reparations, their entire estate was handed to the Malfoy heir. That title no longer - never - belonged to me solely. You are their daughter. Your Squib status does not negate your Malfoy blood. You have as much claim to the inheritance as I, and I can only apologise that it did not occur to me sooner that you may not be aware of your birthright. I’m terribly sorry for the suffering you have endured as a result of not having had access to your entitlement before now.”

Anna was completely and utterly stunned. Her memories of their childhood home were dripping with extravagance and luxury. All that had disappeared when she was left penniless at the age of 11, and she had had to survive on government handouts until she earned enough to support herself. She was proud of how hard she had worked to make ends meet, but struggling to afford basic commodities had been stressful and tiresome.

She remembered the posh wankers who visited her gallery, flaunting their excessive wealth as if it defined them, and sneering down at her. Draco was making a concerted effort to put aside his magical superiority complex, but class was an entirely separate issue. She knew how much she had been shaped by years of scraping by, would this sudden windfall change her as a person? The thought was terrifying.

Draco was watching her carefully when she looked back up. His voice now held a tentative, nervous edge.
“We are not as wealthy as we once were, not since the war, and the vast majority of that which we still possess is tied up in the Manor.”
“That’s where you live, isn’t it?”
“Yes. If you wish to release the capital from the estate, I will contact my lawyer to make the arrangements for the sale. Obviously, should you prefer to reside alongside myself, I would be more than willing to make the necessary adaptations to meet your needs, the house is arguably far too large for a single man such as myself.”
“Wait, are you offering for me to come and live with you?”
“Your stake in the house equals my own. You are entitled to take up residence should you so desire.”

As Anna had started to get to know Draco better, he had become more relaxed and begun to speak more freely, but he still reverted to stiff formalities for serious conversations. She wished he would drop the pretence and communicate honestly.
“Ok, I get that I have the right to live there as I apparently part own the house, but do you actually want me to live there? I’m already beginning to outstay my welcome at the Burrow, but I had planned on renting a flat when the money from my art sales comes through. I don’t care about my legal rights to the property, it’s your home, you live there and I’m not going to make you sell it, but that doesn’t mean I have to live there.”

Draco’s relief was written all over his face, and his posture relaxed a little, his speech now softer and quieter than before. 

“Thank you. It’s bizarre perhaps, considering how many horrors I witnessed taking place there, but it’s the only place I could ever envision calling home. I meant it, when I said that it is too big for one person, though. There’s plenty of space.”
“Draco... it’s not as simple as there being space. I use Muggle technology where you use magic. I’ve been independent since I was 11, and I don’t want to sacrifice that.”
“We should be able to install Muggle technology into the Manor. We can renovate a section of the house for you, the rooms can be stripped entirely and refurbished to meet your needs. We could make it a self contained area, so you could still be independent, you wouldn’t even have to see me, unless you wanted to.”

Anna didn’t know how to respond. Draco was offering a security she had always accepted was out of her reach, a home that wasn’t tiny with mould growing up the walls, a life without worrying about making the rent. A comfortable, safe, real home where she could raise her child. He had gained her trust enough that she knew the offer was genuine, and it was sorely tempting. The issue was that she still hadn’t found a way to tell him she was pregnant; was still unsure how he would react, considering she wasn’t married. Realising the only way forward was to tell him, she sucked in a deep breath and let the words rush out as she exhaled.

Draco

It took a few moments for his sister’s words to sink in. She was still rambling explanations for why he was only being told now, but his mind had stuck on the most important point. She was going to have a baby. The Muggle abuser’s baby. He interrupted her, as a horrible thought struck.
“Does he know? Are you going to tell him he will soon be a father?”
“No. And no. I left for the baby’s safety. It’s best he doesn’t know. I’d rather have had no parents than the ones I had, and I’m going to be the best Mum I possibly can be to this child.”
Draco felt the stab of her words about their parents, but pushed it aside, understanding that Ara had the right to feel that way, even if he didn’t. 

“Good. I’m glad. He doesn’t deserve to know either of you. If you’ll allow it, the baby will have an uncle looking out for it too.”
He smiled timidly, surprised at how happy he was at the thought of being an uncle. Ara threw herself at him, and nearly knocked him over with the force of her hug.

That evening, Draco returned home with an added spring in his step. Ara would be coming the next day with Mr and Mrs Weasley to work out how to renovate her section of the Manor. He walked through the house and grinned to himself as he envisioned Muggle-ifying the rooms where Voldemort had done his worst deeds. It would be the ultimate two finger salute to the tyrant, and should help stop the occasional flashbacks Draco suffered.

Upon arrival the next morning, Mr and Mrs Weasley insisted Draco call them Molly and Arthur, which he found informal to the point of discomfort. They quickly set into roles as they walked around the house; Draco knew the Manor inside out, Ara had a mental list of requirements, Arthur was an expert on magic/Muggle technology interfaces so made notes on what needed to be done to install the things Ara wanted, and Molly took charge of ensuring they had accounted for everything a baby could possibly need.

The dungeon which had once held prisoners would become a living room with plush seating and a huge Muggle TV. The room where Death Eater meetings once took place would be filled with Muggle appliances to form an open plan kitchen. The room where Voldemort once slept would be a brightly coloured nursery for a baby whose parents were a Squib and a Muggle.

Draco was very glad both that he had already sorted through the Manor, and that he had used his skills on other houses to earn a decent wage. The renovations were expensive and slow, so it took a full month to finish Ara’s bedroom and ensuite before she could move in. She would then be relying on Draco’s magic and the house elf, Mitsy, until the rest of the work was complete. He could tell she wasn’t entirely happy about it, but it was unavoidable.

Soon after she’d agreed to move in, he had paid for driving lessons and bought her a car. He had intended to buy her the biggest one they sold, something called a Land Rover, but she had laughed, thought he wasn’t serious (he was) and opted instead for a car that was literally called a Mini, it was so small. Draco thought she was mad, wanting the tiny thing instead of the one he had picked out, but Ara said she’d always wanted a Mini, and she wouldn’t be caught dead driving “an ostentatious Chelsea tractor”, whatever that was supposed to mean. 

The car was very necessary for her to get around rural Wiltshire, and it gave her a lot of the independence she craved. Draco heard about the people she’d got chatting to at a local arts centre and become friends with, about the new mothers group she’d joined, and how she had found a gallery that might be interested in some of her work. From what Draco could tell, Ara was the kind of person people were drawn to, someone they naturally wanted to befriend. As much as Draco was happy her life was becoming easier, he couldn’t help but wish he’d inherited some of the same people skills. 

One day, she drove him to the local Muggle supermarket. It took 40 minutes to reach the shop, where they parked alongside other cars in neat little rows. He was awestruck by the sheer quantity of food, as they pushed the metal cage around on its wheels. The Muggles had whole meals pre-made and sat in a section of the shop under what felt like cooling charms, there were brightly coloured packets everywhere, and Ara threw various things into the “trolley”. They handed the food to a woman who passed them through something Ara later tried to convince him didn’t use magic to identify each item, and then Ara took a plastic card, shoved it in what looked like a tenefome, pressed some numbers and had apparently paid.

After they had loaded their shopping bags into the car, Ara chucked a few bags at Draco and said “try these”. The first had pictures of potatoes on the outside, but on the inside had thin yellow discs. Ara dug her hand into the packet and shoved some into her mouth, so Draco copied suit. The discs were crunchy, and tasted like salt and some other flavours he couldn’t quite identify. They were nothing like anything he had ever eaten, but somehow incredibly moreish. He had no idea Muggles could make things this good!

He thought back through all of the craziness he had witnessed in the supermarket, and tried to ask Ara how the plastic card had paid for the shopping. She explained it sent a message to the bank, and they sent the money. She laughed when Draco mused that Muggle banks must employ a lot of other Muggles, if they didn’t have goblins and people made them send money for them. Apparently it was all done automatically and digitally. Digitally was something to do with numbers and computers which seemed highly convoluted and confusing to Draco. He was beginning to realise that Muggles were far less simple and idiotic than he had always been taught.

Ara/Anna

Anna would never tell her brother, but after that first time she had gone to the Manor with the Weasleys, she had returned to the Burrow and cried in a room that was temporarily hers, but truthfully belonged to the Weasleys’ actual daughter. Her tears weren’t born out of despair, or even sadness, really, they fell due to the weight of all of the emotions she had suppressed suddenly hitting her with overwhelming force. It was the culmination of everything that had happened over the past few months, everything she had been forced to endure with a brave face lest anyone exploit her weakness, everything that had been worrying her and keeping her awake at night. She had sobbed so hard, it had stolen her breath, her whole body shuddering with each inhale. 

Molly had slipped into the room, and Anna had tried to apologise for her outburst while still in the midst of the crying fit, but Molly had shushed away the words, running a hand gently up and down Anna’s back and murmuring soft reassurances. When all of the tears that needed to escape had been shed, Molly had silently handed her a cup of tea, saying simply that she was surprised how long it had taken her to crack and that she must be incredibly strong to have held all of that in, but that she should never feel like she couldn’t express her true emotions around the Weasleys, that it was a normal part of the human condition to feel. After that, everything felt clearer and lighter to Anna, like her tears had been rainfall after weeks of mugginess, leaving the air fresh and the skies blue in its wake.

The first few weeks after she had moved into the Manor had not been easy; she had felt trapped in the house with only a tiny village that literally consisted of the pub, a few houses and one single bus to the nearest city per day. Accepting a large amount of Malfoy money had been uncomfortable, but having a car made a massive difference; it gave her so much more independence, even when the work on her section of the house to make it non-magical wasn’t fully complete. Once she could easily get about, she had quickly fallen into a routine, and had made painstaking efforts to set roots and make friends in the area. She remained close with the Weasleys, and began to count members of their family among her list of new friends.

Whenever Anna asked Draco what he had been up to, he had always either been at work, with their mother, or on his own. She was starting to think she probably had more wizarding friends than he did, and that was ridiculous because she only knew one family. She mentioned this one morning at the Burrow while she was helping out with party preparations for one of the Weasley grandchildren’s birthday. Fleur, the birthday girl’s mother, instantly told Anna to invite her brother to the party. 

Ron stiffened visibly at the suggestion, and looked at his sister-in-law as if she had grown an extra head. 

“Are you mad? You want to invite Draco Malfoy to a children’s birthday party?”

“Annah says zat ‘ee does not ‘ave any friends. I know ‘ow ‘eet feels to be lonely.”

Ron looked like he wanted to say something else, but Fleur effectively silenced any argument with her statement and piercing look. 

Anna popped into Draco’s section of the house that evening to invite him to the party. From his disgusted grimace, you would have thought she had just asked him to attend a troll’s party in a sewer. His face softened when he caught the offence and hurt that she hadn’t even tried to hide. 

“Ara, look, it’s not because… I know they’re your friends, and honestly I’m so glad that they have been there to support you, we both know they’ve done a better job than I could have done.”

Anna sensed the but before her brother said it. 

“But… I can’t waltz in there and act as if we could all get along like best friends. A lot of them hate me. They have good reason to hate me. I can understand why you would like us to all get along, but I’m afraid it’s an unrealistic goal. There’s too much history, and I’m Slytherin to their Gryffindor. Like that odd phrase you tried to teach me the other day, what was it? Chalk and Cheddar?”

“Chalk and cheese?”

“Yes! They’re chalk, and I’m cheese.”

“Alright, Mr. Stilton, I don’t think they’d-“

“Hey! I’m not Stilton! I’m something refined and French. Maybe Beaufort? That basically translates to beautiful and strong, and it’s got a lovely flavour. You may call me Mr. Beaufort if you’d like.”

Anna rolled her eyes, and neglected to mention that the one time she’d tried Beaufort she’d thought it was a bit nutty, much like her dramatic little brother. 

When she turned up to the party alone, no one seemed surprised, to the extent that only Fleur expressed her regrets about Draco’s absence. 

“I am sorry your bruzzer could not make eet.”

“It was very kind of you to invite him. I think he was a little intimidated by the prospect of so many Weasleys.”

“Now, zat I can understand!”

“Yep, he started going on about how he was Slytherin not Gryffindor, he even started comparing you guys to chalk and himself to Beaufort.”

Fleur snorted. 

“‘Ee is not Beaufort! Beaufort eez a French cheese, and ee is as Eenglish as zey come!”

“Isn’t Malfoy a French name though?”

“Well, yes, but-“

Fleur was cut off, as a dark haired man, who had been passing by, stopped abruptly and stared at them. 

“Malfoy? Why’re you talking about him ?”

“‘Arry, ‘ave you not met Anna yet? She eez zee sister of Draco.”

“Sister? He has a sister?”

Anna felt Harry’s eyes landing on her, and watched them widen as he took in her appearance. 

“Christ, you look just like him, only female, obviously. It’s kind of weird, actually. God, I hope you’re less of a prejudiced twat than him.”

Under Fleur’s stern look he wilted a little, but before she could open her mouth to admonish him, a woman, whose identity Anna could guess without introduction, appeared out of nowhere and threw herself onto Harry’s back. 

“Oooof! Ever thought about warning me, Gin?”

“Just testing your Auror reactions!”

Ginny was still smiling cheekily as she slid onto the floor and turned to Anna. 

“Hey, it’s Anna, right? I’m Ginny. Mum showed me that incredible picture you gave them of the Burrow. You painted it yourself, didn’t you?”

Anna felt herself blush as she nodded in confirmation. Her artwork had become somewhat brighter since she had reentered the magical world and seen a whole new side to it; a positive, friendly, kind side that the Weasley home embodied so completely that Anna just had to capture it in paint, and it had only felt natural for her to give it to the people who had created the place.

Ginny, who had been enthusiastically describing the piece to Fleur and Harry, turned back to Anna. 

“Mum said that you work professionally as an artist, so does that mean you do commissions?”

“Commissions? Um, mostly I just paint what inspires me, and then if I’m lucky someone likes the work enough to buy it… why? Was there something in particular you’d like to have painted?”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal, but we’re trying to get a new logo for the Harpies and all the designs we’ve had back are awful, so I was thinking that if you did commissions, something in your style would be awesome, but not to worry, I’m sure we’ll get something eventually.”

Considering how friendly and kind Ginny and her family had been, Anna figured that at the very least she could see if she’d be able to paint something suitable.

“What’s the Harpies?”

Ginny’s eyes widened, her surprise and confusion clearly evident. 

“The Holyhead Harpies? You know, the Quidditch team?”

Ginny was giving Anna a slightly incredulous look. 

“Oh, ok, Quidditch. The broomstick flying ball game thing. Right. I could try to paint that! I’ve never done a logo before, but I guess if I just started with single items like that little ball with the wings?”

“That little one with the…? You mean the snitch?”

Ginny looked like steam was about to start streaming out of her ears, she was so clearly horrified at Anna’s lack of quidditch knowledge. 

Harry, on the other hand, was suppressing laughter. Anna rolled her eyes.

“Yes, alright, my knowledge of the wizarding world is rubbish, I get it, but I bet none of you have ever been forced to play netball, have you?”

Harry sobered at that. 

“Netball? That game with the smelly bibs from muggle school? Why would you have been forced to play that?”

“Like you said, it’s part of muggle school. And those bibs were disgusting… Are you muggleborn, then?”

“I used to live with my muggle aunt and uncle. I still don’t get why you’d be at muggle school though?”

“La vache! ‘Arry, is it not evidon zat she’s a Squib!”

“Oh. OH. And you’re a Malfoy. A Malfoy squib. Salazar… that must be…” 

The silence that followed was slightly awkward. Anna searched for anything to break it. 

“So, Holyhead, you said? Is that in Scotland?”

“Um, no, it’s in Anglesey, so North Wales? ...maybe you’re thinking of Holyrood? Like where the Scottish Parliament is?”

“Oh, yeah, probably.”

“You’d be welcome to come up and visit, even if you don’t want to do the logo, or you could come to one of our games, if you’d like?”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to do the logo, but I’d happily give it a shot? And I’d love to visit, but I don’t think I’m up for travelling that far at the moment…”

Anna gestured towards her visibly pregnant belly in explanation. 

“Ohhh yeah, I forget how long muggle travel takes… you could Floo up, but thinking about it, it is quite far, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to.”

“It would still be good to meet the whole team though…”

“Of course! The girls’ll be happy to come down to meet you. We could bring our brooms too, give you a bit of a demo?”

“Yeah, that’d definitely help.”

“Cool, is there anywhere near you that has a bit of space and Muggles wouldn’t spot us flying?”

“You could just come to the Manor, if you like?”

“Are you sure? Would that be OK with your brother and your Mum?”

“My brother definitely wouldn’t mind. I haven’t spoken to my mother since I was eleven, so I couldn’t tell you how she’d feel, but since she’s not allowed to set foot in the place herself, I don’t think it’ll be an issue!”

There was an awkward silence, in which Ginny went bright red. 

“Godric, I’m sorry! I forgot…”

“Zat sounds like a marrrvvellous eeday, ‘eet could even ‘elp Draco meet some uzzer wizards. Zere are Slyzzerins in your team, are zere not?”

“Yeah, our keeper was Slytherin, and so was our Welfare Witch, and a few others too.”

“Sounds like a win-win then. My calendar is fairly flexible, so if you suggest a couple of dates?”

“Awesome, will do! Thank you so much!”

“I haven’t done anything yet!”

Draco

A few people, that’s what Ara had told him. A few potential customers would be coming over so she could get a feel for what they were like and make them a logo or something that represented them well. It had been nothing more than a brief, casual warning to expect people in the Manor’s grounds. Draco wondered if the muggle definition of ‘a few’ differed from the Wizarding one, because the group of over twenty currently gathered outside constituted significantly more than ‘a few’, in his book. 

He resisted staring out of the window for all of five minutes after returning home from work, then gave up and allowed himself to be nosy. It took only a moment to realise that half of the women were dressed in identical dark green robes; the Holyhead Harpies. Ara had invited an entire quidditch team to their house. Draco couldn’t decide if he was more shocked or impressed. His eye caught a flash of ginger hair, and suddenly it all made more sense, as he remembered that the Weasley girl played for the Harpies now. 

He scanned the rest of the group, noticing a Slytherin from the year above, and another couple of people he thought he had seen around at Hogwarts. Draco had the sudden realisation that if someone looked up towards the house, they might see him and possibly think they were obliged to have an awkward conversation with him. He quickly ducked away from the window, and started to dart towards the safety of his own rooms, but his plan was cruelly cut short when Ara stumbled through the back door, her eyes lighting up as she brightly exclaimed that he was home. She was never normally so excited to see him, and his suspicions were proven to be well-founded a few moments later when she handed him an easel and set of paints, asking him with false innocence to help her carry them outside as it was difficult for her, being pregnant and all. The fact that she easily carried it across the room to give to him was not lost on Draco, but he could hardly refuse. 

By the time they were halfway across the garden, Draco had resigned himself to being an unwitting pawn in Ara’s plan, having lost all hope that he could dump the art supplies and make a hasty retreat, somewhere between her excited babbling about quidditch, and her casual mention that there were Slytherins present. Predictably, as soon as they reached the group, Ara took the easel from Draco and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor, grabbing his hand and giving him no chance to escape from the horror of uncomfortable small talk. 

“Guys, this is my brother, Draco. I’m going to start working some ideas up now, but he’s kindly offered to stick around and help with anything you need.”

It was only Draco’s impeccable etiquette and grace that prevented his mouth from falling open in shock at his sister’s audacity. She gave him a cheeky grin and began to set up her easel, effectively abandoning him with a group of people who likely detested him and his Death Eating history. Great. 

Draco stood there like a lemon, feeling supremely uncomfortable and awkward, until suddenly a woman was in front of him, engaging him in conversation. Unfortunately, said woman was ridiculously attractive, her long black hair a striking contrast against her pale complexion, her eyes glinting in the sun in a way that made Draco feel like she could see straight through to his soul. Her beauty was wholly inconvenient for Draco, as it rendered him completely speechless, barely able to comprehend the words she had spoken to him. He desperately tried to get it together enough to pretend her appearance hadn’t just entirely scrambled his brain. 

“Erm. Hi?”

“Hi Draco. I’m getting the impression you don’t remember me? I’m Astoria, was in Slytherin too.”

“You were? Are you sure? I feel like I’d have remembered a face that beaut- how come I don’t feel like I’ve seen your face before?”

Astoria gave a genuine, happy laugh, and a slight blush dusted her cheeks, making Draco feel like his insides had taken flight. 

“I was a couple of years below you, I think you knew my sister, Daphne, though?”

“Daphne Greengrass? Yeah, I did. How is she?”

“She’s good. How about you? I quite often go out with her friends nowadays and they sometimes mention you in stories from school, but I’ve never seen you at drinks or anything?” 

Draco squirmed, feeling heat flooding to his face. 

How was he supposed to stand in front of this intimidatingly stunning woman, who was currently looking at him like he was worthy of her attention, like he was a valuable human being, and explain exactly who he was and what he had done? Draco had long since become accustomed to the way people now sneered and jeered at his family, as if they themselves were angels and the Malfoys were the devil incarnate, but it would crush him to wipe that sweet, open, kind smile from her face. He forced himself to look away from her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get the words out while meeting those incredible eyes. 

“You don’t see me at drinks because associating with myself is no longer an attractive prospect. My actions in the war… Look, it’s as simple as this: no one wants to be friends with a Death Eater, no one wants me hanging around like a lingering curse, no one wants to be seen with the Dark Lord’s minion. I get it. I chose the wrong side and they undoubtedly will have suffered some of the condemnation meant for me. Simply being a Slytherin means I’m sure you’ve had to deal with the fallout from my family’s actions. I’m so sorry.”

Silence followed Draco’s speech. When he finally worked up the courage to glance back up at Astoria’s face, he was surprised by the compassion and tenderness written across it. 

“Draco… I know this probably means nothing coming from me, because we were never friends back then, but I’ve heard the way Daphne and the others talk about you, and I honestly believe they miss you. You were a child and you were scared; no one blames you for the actions you were forced to take. To be perfectly frank, none of us can say we wouldn’t have done exactly the same in your place, and actually, I don’t think many of the Slytherins from your year could describe themselves as completely innocent.”

Draco felt a little like his brain had been hit by a Stupefy . He was completely unprepared, he never expected anyone to understand the situation he had been in, the confusion and the trauma that the war had caused. He had the sudden realisation that actually, his old friends would empathise with him for they had all played their part for Voldemort’s side, to some extent. It was the realisation that he didn’t need to suffer the pain of his battle scars alone. He opened his mouth then closed it again. How could words ever describe how grateful he was to her for giving him that realisation? 

“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped by saying that, I was just speaking my mind, but I understand it’s none of my business.”

“No. I… thank you. I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Astoria’s warm smile returned. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re not angry, your expression was kind of intense…”

Draco felt himself blushing again.

“I do apologise! I was merely processing.”

“It’s quite alright! I understand. So will you think about joining us for drinks one night?”

“If you truly believe that I’d be welcome, that would be marvellous.”

Astoria’s smile grew impossibly wider, and Draco matched it with a grin of his own. 

It was at this point that Ara decided to appear, a knowing, cheeky, mischievous glint in her eye.

“Draco Malfoy, are you flirting with this admittedly beautiful woman? You’re blushing! Ooh this is so exciting, my baby brother’s first crush!!!”

“Ara. Cease. Desist. Please.”

“Oh you’re using fancy language, that means you’re nervous! He must really like you!”

Draco grabbed Ara’s arm and began to physically drag his sister away from the now red faced Astoria, calling back to her and trying not to notice how cute she looked with pink dusting her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry about her lack of decorum and manners. She hasn’t learnt proper etiquette yet.”

By late July, Ara was no longer pretending to need Draco and Mitsy’s help. Her stomach had swelled to a size that looked positively ginormous on her tiny frame. Mentioning the similarity between her shape and a whale resulted in her throwing food at your head, though. 

Her bump made it difficult and frustrating to paint, so she was becoming increasingly bored and had apparently decided that the best way to amuse herself was to relentlessly tease Draco any time she heard he was seeing Astoria, and often when he wasn’t. Ara liked to tell him that she “totally shipped” them, which apparently meant she thought they were “meant to be together”, despite Draco repeatedly telling her that Astoria was so far out of his league they practically lived on different planets. 

His wonderful sister had struck up a friendship with a few of the women who had come with the Holyhead Harpies that day, including Astoria, which Draco strongly suspected was purely to spite him. At this point, he though Ara might actually see Astoria more than he did, she was at the Manor so often when he arrived home. That wasn’t to say that Draco never saw her though; as she had predicted, he had been welcomed back into his school friendship group with open arms, and now regularly attended their social events. He found he naturally gravitated towards Astoria, no matter the setting, but he tried not to make it obvious that he had a bit of a crush on her, even as said crush grew every time they spoke. 

Draco was working at a customer’s house one day, when Mitsy appeared beside him. She seemed agitated and said “Mistress Ara is being having pains Master, Mitsy is worrying it is being the baby”. Draco thanked the elf and apparated straight back to the Manor.

As they had planned, Draco loaded Ara into the car and drove to the hospital. He had learnt to drive entirely for this situation, so they could safely get her to the Muggle maternity unit where she would get the best care. He got a funny look from the nurse when he asked to use the tenefome and handed over the piece of paper with numbers on that Ara had given him, but soon he was given a piece of plastic with Arthur’s voice emerging from it. He repeated “Ara’s having the baby” five times before handing the plastic back and returning to his sister’s bedside.

Molly and Arthur arrived 20 minutes later. The baby took hours to make its way out of his sister. It was dreadfully boring and he actually appreciated Arthur Weasley’s conversational skills. They had a long discussion in which Arthur explained tenefomes, which were apparently actually called telephones. He had just promised to lend Draco the book Harry had bought him on how aeroplanes stay up without magic, when the baby finally decided to be born.

Draco was very grateful for Arthur’s advice to stay by Ara’s head and just look at her face. He was also glad that he was a wizard, as he was sure Muggle bones would have been crushed under the force with which she was gripping his hand. He made the mistake of asking what they meant by “dilated”; he could certainly have lived without hearing a description of exactly where the baby came out. It seemed his education had been rather lacking in this respect, and it was rather shocking to learn these things while they were happening to his sister.

Unlike every other traumatic experience he had had, this one was made entirely worth it the moment his beautiful niece was placed into her mother’s arms. Ara was smiling in a way he had never seen, silent tears sliding down her face. She looked content and peaceful as she gently stroked her daughter’s cheek. Draco hit by the force of the love he had grown to feel for his sister, and how it was matched only in strength to what he felt looking at the tiny newborn. The first time he held her, he made a silent promise to protect both her and her mother.

Draco did not expect Ara to follow the family tradition and give her daughter a stellar name. It was therefore a pleasant surprise when she announced that while her daughter would not be given a name taken directly from a constellation, there would be a tribute to the tradition in her name. Leona Martha Malfoy King had a first name derived from her star sign and the Leo constellation, middle names in tribute to both the Weasley parents and her mother’s infancy, and her Mum’s current surname. 

Over the next few weeks, the Manor saw more visitors than it had in all the years between the war and Ara’s return combined. Every time Draco felt certain that all the Weasleys must now have visited, another showed up to meet his niece and state the obvious that she was adorable. Ara caught Draco staring at Astoria, who softly smiled at Leona when given the chance to hold the baby, speaking tenderly in a way that totally destroyed Draco’s composure. Ara waggled her eyebrows and smirked at him knowingly, clearly enjoying watching her brother’s struggle. The most excruciating part was when she very unsubtly told Astoria about how good Draco had been with her daughter; how gentle and caring he was. Draco wished someone would just Avada him right there and then, until Astoria gave him a small smile that felt like hope. 

About a month after Leona was born, he arrived home from work to find Ara sat in the entrance hall, just below the dragon painting she had named after him, and clearly waiting for his return. Mitsy had barely relieved him of his coat when she dropped her bombshell.
“I want to introduce Leona to Mother”.

Narcissa

Narcissa was sure her son was hiding something from her, and had been for months. Draco’s visit schedule was as regular as ever, and they still held polite conversation about his work and politics etcetera , yet she could tell he was neglecting to disclose something. He had gradually become happier over the past months, the light behind his eyes, which had dulled immeasurably as he was pulled into the Dark Lord’s plans, had slowly relit. In the past month, he had seemed more tired, yet somehow more energetic and his smiles had held a genuine quality they hadn’t before.

The most plausible explanation, was that he had met someone. They had never discussed his romantic pursuits, so she had assumed he simply had not been serious enough in a relationship to broach the subject yet. His demeanour had been significantly brighter for months though, and she was beginning to take offence that she had not been introduced. Naturally, she feared the worst. He must be involved with a Muggle. She struggled to comprehend how the son she had raised had even met a Muggle, yet alone become attached to one.

Months ago, she had resolved to allow him the space and time to confide in her when he was ready, however she could feel her patience becoming strained. If he did not volunteer the information next time he visited, she would have to take matters into her own hands, and ask some very direct questions. She was his mother, and he had no business concealing whatever had saved him from his misery.

Narcissa was listening to the radio and trying to decide what to eat for supper when Draco knocked on her door. As soon as she opened it, he barged past her and closed the door behind him. He urged her back into the sitting room and into her chair before he spoke.
“Ok. Mother, there’s a couple of people who want to meet you. One of them has some questions and I would like your word that you will answer them truthfully and honestly.”
A couple of people? That didn’t sound like a girlfriend, or even a boyfriend. 

“Of course, I’ll answer any of your friend’s questions to the best of my ability. Draco, what is this about?”
“They aren’t my friends. They’re family. You should know that my wand is going to stay in my hand, and I will not hesitate to use it at even slightest hint of you hurting either of them.”
Something clicked in Narcissa’s brain. Draco had been incredibly careful to avoid doing magic anywhere near her since her sentencing. He wouldn’t set the Aurors on her for just anyone. He had said family, and something made her recall their conversation long ago when she had told him Ara were dead. Had he not believed her, and set about finding his sister? She couldn’t possibly have survived. Surely Draco was not about to introduce her to Ara and her husband?

Narcissa was so lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Draco leave the room. Now he returned, his expression stony. He moved into the room to reveal a nervous looking young woman standing in the doorway, her arms protectively guarding a bundle of blankets that surely held a baby. Narcissa gasped at the shock of seeing her daughter, alive and well, holding her own child. She began to cry as a small smile found its way to her lips.
“Ara.”
Ara nodded, looking only a little less anxious.
“You’re alive!”
Ara nodded again.
“And you have a baby?”
Another nod.
“I’m so pleased to see you, alive and well after all this time!”
Ara shifted her arms around the baby, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
“Come and sit down, would you like some tea? Or coffee?”
“Tea.”
“Draco?”
“Tea, please”

Narcissa headed to the kitchen as Ara sat herself down on the sofa next to Draco. They were talking rapidly but keeping their tones hushed, so she couldn’t make out the words. When she returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with their tea, Ara looked a little less tense, and Narcissa could just make out the baby’s face. Draco gave his sister a nudge. Narcissa noted her daughter’s determined eye contact and steely expression as Ara began her interrogation.

“When I was 11, you wanted me dead. Is that still the case?”
Narcissa was horrified.
“Ara, I never wanted you dead! You’re my daughter, I didn’t want you dead then, and I certainly don’t now!”
“So it wasn’t your idea, but you still went along with Father’s plan to murder me?”
“Your father tried to kill you? When? What did he do?”
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know? That I didn’t bring shame on your family simply for having the audacity to exist?”
“Ara... I was not aware of any plot to murder you. When I discussed it with Lucius, I will admit that I agreed to a plan where we told those who knew about you that you had died. It was not a proud moment for me, but it seemed like the only way to keep our family’s status. I would never have agreed to it if I believed you would actually be killed. The arrangement was that you would be sent to a Muggle boarding school, and then your summers would be spent abroad.”

“So you don’t want me dead, but you are ashamed of me?”
“My feelings for you are complicated. I have loved you since the moment you were born. You’re my daughter, and I loved you even when I hadn’t seen you for years. The difficulty, before, was that you threatened everything. My marriage, the life I led, my relationship with my family. I watched my sister be thrown out onto the street for marrying a Muggle-born, I couldn’t bear the idea of that happening to me. I’m sorry. I never wanted you to suffer.”

Ara looked like she was trying to figure her mother out, when Draco piped up.
“Is that why you risked your life to come and find me? You lied to Voldemort, because you still felt guilty for putting status above Ara, so you didn’t want to make the same sacrifice twice?”
“When we made the arrangements for Ara, I saw it as saving myself and then she suddenly disappeared. So yes, I think it’s part of the reason I lied that day.”

It seemed the exchange settled something for Ara, because she stopped examining Narcissa and added a final question.
“What do you think about me right now, today. We can’t change the past but I need to know how you feel in the present. Are you still ashamed of me?”
“Right now, today, I feel proud of you. I have always loved you, but looking at you now, all grown up but still yourself, looking so beautiful and confident, I’m proud. I’m ashamed of myself, not you. I would like to know about your disappearance, and I would like to know everything that’s happened in your life since, but I’m just so relieved to see you alive, healthy, and I hope happy?”
Ara looked to Draco, who nodded.

“I think she’s telling the truth.”

“And what about my baby, whose father was a Muggle?”
“Living as a Muggle has shown me how wrong everything I believed about Muggles was. Nothing would make me happier than being allowed to be your child’s grandmother, but I will love that child with everything I have, regardless of whether I am allowed to be a part of their life.”

Satisfied, Ara stood up, walked over to Narcissa and carefully transferred the sleeping infant to her waiting arms.
“I’d like to introduce you to your granddaughter, Leona Martha Malfoy King.”