From the Ashes

From the Ashes

Part Seven

by Fourth Rose

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes, a fire shall be woken

A light from the shadows shall spring...

(J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord Of The Rings)

* * *

Harry wakes immediately when there's a soft, tentative knock at his bedroom door; sleeping lightly is something he has practised to perfection during the war, and although he hoped he would never need that ability again, it comes in handy now that it turned out that Lucia is afraid of the dark.

When he opens the door, she's standing in the corridor clutching her teddy bear, her pale eyes huge and fearful in her sweet little face. Mim, a candle in his hand, is hovering beside her with an apologetic expression.

"Mim is most sorry, Sir, but Miss Lucia insisted that -"

"It's fine, Mim, I'll take care of it." Harry crouches to pick her up, and the fact that she doesn't protest tells him clearly how frightened she is - during the day, she hardly ever tolerates being carried any longer, claiming that she's a big girl of three and can walk by herself. Now, however, she clings to Harry and hides her face in his hair when he asks gently, "What's the matter, poppet?"

Unsurprisingly, her only answer is the whispered word, "Dark."

With a sigh, Harry carries her to his bed. She snuggles up to him when he lies down with her, her head pillowed on his arm and her hands still holding on to his pyjama jacket. Harry is relieved to see her face relax as he pulls the blanket up over her shoulders and smoothes her tangled curls.

"Did you have a bad dream?" He always dreads the answer, although Pansy and all her female relatives keep assuring him that nightmares are nothing unusual for a small child with a vivid imagination. Lucia just nods, and Harry sighs again and keeps stroking her hair until she falls asleep. She has never said what her dreams are about; she either can't describe them, or she doesn't want to talk about it. Never in his life has Harry wished more desperately that he'd managed to learn Legilimency, so that he could take a look into her thoughts and find out what she's afraid of. Pansy is no help in that regard; on the contrary, she flat-out refused to let anyone mess with her daughter's mind when he mentioned it. Many children are afraid of the dark, Potter; she'll grow out of it as she gets older, so stop fretting.

On an intellectual level, Harry knows that she's right, but it still seems cold to him to just let the little girl suffer without trying to help her. Lucia is too young to understand the explanations that there's nothing to be afraid of in her room, even if it's dark in there. They tried letting the lamps burn the whole night, but she slept badly in a brightly lit room, and a single candle made things even worse because it cast huge, flickering shadows on the walls. Therefore, Pansy has decided to simply wait; she's convinced it's only a phase anyway, and besides, Mim is always in the nursery during the night to take care of her if she wakes up.

Harry has never mentioned it to Pansy, but he thinks it's hardly surprising that Lucia always comes to him when she's afraid if Pansy cares so little about her fears.

* * *

"Mum, Dad, look!"

Lucia waves at Harry and Pansy as she zooms around the rose bushes on her toy broomstick. Harry waves back, but Pansy frowns when her daughter narrowly avoids getting her robes tangled in the thorny branches. "That's very impressive, Lucia, but please stay on the grass and away from the roses, all right?"

Lucia pouts, but obediently steers her broom back to the open ground in front of the house.

Mr Parkinson chuckles and takes a sip from his iced gillywater. "She'll be back among the bushes the moment you look away, mark my words." Harry, who is sitting beside his father-in-law in the shadow of the huge old oak tree in the middle of the garden, grins at this. "Seen it before, have you?"

"Well, I did raise Pansy," Mr Parkinson reminds him, happily ignoring the dark look his daughter sends him. Mrs Parkinson, who is anxiously following Lucia with her eyes although the toy broom won't take her higher than a foot above the ground, just shakes her head and murmurs something under her breath.

Harry gives a soft, contented sigh and leans back in his seat, allowing himself to just enjoy the sunny, carefree Sunday afternoon for a moment. The following weekend will be stressful enough since Pansy is hosting a garden party in celebration of his birthday, and she seems to have invited half the wizarding population of England. Harry knows that he mustn't complain since his political career wouldn't be what it is today without her skills as a hostess, but he still doesn't even want to imagine what she'll come up with next year, when he'll turn thirty.

He must have dozed off for a moment because he's woken by a sharp jab in the ribs from Pansy's elbow. He's momentarily disoriented, but quickly focuses when he hears Mr Parkinson exclaim, "Minister, what a pleasure to see you!"

Percy, who is wearing a formal black robe in spite of the warm summer day, is already shaking Mr Parkinson's hand when Harry gets to his feet. "I hope you'll forgive me for intruding like this, but your elf said -"

"You know you're always welcome, Minister," Harry interrupts him with a grin, and Percy finally drops the formal act and grins back. He's perfectly aware that Harry is having him on by addressing him with his title, and he also knows Harry knows how pleased he still is to hear it. It's been less than a month since Percy took office, and it's obvious he's still not quite used to being the second youngest Minister for Magic Britain ever had. "Have a seat and a drink, you look like you could do with both."

"I won't deny it," Percy admits with a sigh while he carefully lowers himself into the chair Harry conjured with a flick of his wand, "I've been at the Ministry since seven in the morning today."

"On a Sunday?" Mrs Parkinson clucks her tongue. "Your dedication is admirable, Minister, but you're being too hard on yourself."

"I'm afraid it can't be helped," Percy replies with dignity. "My predecessor left his post in - well, let me just say that there is still a lot of work to do until I've got his affairs in order. I'm lucky to have been around him for so long, otherwise I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

This is, of course, mostly due to the fact that Scrimgeour didn't expect that he'd have to vacate his post with so little warning, and judging from Pansy's smirk, she's thinking along the same lines. She doesn't say anything, though; instead she just asks, "How's Penny doing?"

Percy's expression changes completely; he's now genuinely smiling when he replies, "She's fine, thank you. We're counting the days."

"The baby is due next week, isn't it?"

"Yes," Percy answers with an even wider smile, "with a bit of luck, it might even share Harry's birthday. Although Penny and I would hate to miss your party, Harry."

Harry just grumbles something, which earns him another jab from Pansy. Meanwhile, Lucia has noticed Percy and comes flying towards him, expertly stopping her broom just in front of him. "Hello, Uncle Percy!"

"Lucia!" her grandmother admonishes her. "That's no way to address the Minister!"

"It's quite all right, Mrs Parkinson," Percy assures her magnanimously, "Lucia and I are old friends, aren't we?"

It still seems against every law of nature to Harry that Percy should be good with children. There can be no doubt that Lucia adores him, though, and Percy is equally taken with her.

"That was a very impressive bit of flying, Lucia. I never knew you could fly so well!"

"She's taking after her father," Pansy says with a small smile that only Harry really understands.

There are nods all around, and Percy asks, without realising that he's breaching a rather controversial topic, "Have you taken her flying yet, Harry?"

Harry and Pansy just groan, but Lucia cries immediately, "I really want to! But Dad says I'm too small!" When Percy, belatedly noticing his blunder, throws them an apologetic look, she quickly adds, "Can you tell Dad? He says you can tell people to do things!"

Pansy bursts out laughing at this, and against his better judgement, Harry can't help joining in. "Oh, there can be no doubt into which house you'll get sorted, poppet. Fine, I'll bow to the Minister's authority. Accio Nimbus!"

Lucia looks as if Christmas had come early when the broomstick smacks into Harry's hand. If Percy is surprised to see Harry ride such an outdated model, he doesn't show it; he merely asks, while Harry casts half a dozen Safety Charms on the broom, "How afraid should I be of your revenge?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something really interesting to teach your kid, Percy," Harry assures him while he carefully seats Lucia in front of him. "Now hold on here and here, sweetie, and don't let go. If you're afraid, just tell me and we'll go back, all right?"

Lucia just nods, her grin almost splitting her face in two when Harry kicks off the ground. At first, he flies in a slow, wide circle just a few feet above the ground, but Lucia will have none of it. "Higher, Dad! Higher, and faster!"

Since he knows it's perfectly safe, Harry indulges her, and he's oddly pleased by Lucia's joyful squeal when they pick up speed. He has his hand around her waist, but she still manages to lean forward as if she were trying to egg the broom on. "Can I make it go where I want?"

"You can try," Harry answers, "just steer it like you would steer your toy broom, slow and gentle - yes, very good!" Lucia has skilfully shifted her weight and, with just a little help from him, managed to take them into a long, sweeping arc over the whole garden. Pansy waves up at them as they pass the group under the tree.

"Shall we go back now?"

"No, Dad, no! I want to go higher!"

"Very well, if you say so..." Harry grabs her tighter and nudges the broom upwards. "Is that better?"

"Faster, too!" she cries, and Harry laughs, oddly proud at her daring. In a sudden flash of recklessness, he presses Lucia against his chest, urges the broom forward in a burst of speed and takes them into a loop. Lucia lets out a whoop of pure delight, and Harry remembers the rush he felt when he was flying for the first time, the exhilarating sensation when the ground fell away underneath him and he could go wherever he wanted, free like a bird in the air.

He's genuinely sorry when he eventually has to take them into a final dive among Lucia's cries of protest and lands beside the tree where the others are sitting. Pansy is grinning, her father and Percy are smiling, but Mrs Parkinson seems very pale. "That was - a bit irresponsible, Harry, don't you think?"

"Mum, please remember who you're talking to." Pansy sounds impatient, as if she were personally affronted by the suggestion that Harry might have put Lucia in danger. "Harry could have thrown her off the broom and caught her before she hit the ground without harming her."

Harry is taken aback; he has never heard Pansy praise him to anyone before. "Don't give her ideas, I bet she'd love that. She's completely fearless up there, and she was steering like she'd done it all her life." He knows he's exaggerating, but not by much.

"A true natural," Mr Parkinson says with a nod, "like Pansy said, she's taking after her father."

Harry remembers belatedly that this was meant as a compliment to him and does his best to smile. "Come here, poppet, and sit down for a while now." Lucia, her face still glowing with excitement, obediently sits in his lap, as if she wanted to be on her best behaviour in case there's a chance of a repeat performance.

"That was very impressive," Percy tells her with a smile, "and I'd love to stay and watch you fly some more, but I should be going home soon. Harry, there's something we need to talk about."

Harry has been expecting this; he didn't think Percy came here unannounced on a Sunday afternoon just to make a social call. "Shall we go inside?"

Percy shakes his head. "No need, it's just as well you should hear this too, Mr Parkinson, since it also concerns the Wizengamot. It seems that my predecessor has been systematically blocking any legal claims for the restitution of Death Eater property that was seized by the Ministry. I've found out about six different claims so far, made by relatives of convicted Death Eaters who were never found guilty of any crimes themselves, but I'm sure there are more. It's a matter that needs looking into - we can't very well keep the property if there are rightful heirs whose only fault is to have had the wrong sort of relatives."

Mr Parkinson just nods, but Harry has a feeling there's more to it. "That sounds reasonable, Percy, but what made it so urgent that you had to come here on a Sunday to tell me?"

Percy clears his throat. "One of the claims is for the restitution of Lucius Malfoy's Manor house, made by his widow, Narcissa."

Harry momentarily feels at a loss for words. Pansy throws him a look, but when he fails to say anything, she quickly asks, "Does that mean that she's coming back?"

"It seems like she wants to." Percy is looking not at her but at Harry when he adds, "I checked her file, and although she's never been accused of having participated in her husband's crimes, there's your testimony about her involvement in the death of Sirius Black and, to some extent, that of Albus Dumbledore as well. It won't be enough for a formal charge, but I can of course keep blocking her claim if you don't want her to return, Harry. I respected her son for what he did during the war, but I have no opinion on his mother, so I'll go with your decision in this matter."

Harry doesn't look at Pansy, but he feels her gaze fixed on him. His thoughts are racing, images of Sirius falling through the veil followed by the memory of Draco, his face ashen and his hand shaking, telling Dumbledore about Voldemort's threat to kill his parents. He recalls Kreacher's sneering face and Snape's account of the Unbreakable Vow Narcissa made him take to save her son, the photo of Narcissa with a six-year old Draco in Pansy's old album and Pansy's words to her unborn daughter, That's your grandmother with your Dad. She's beautiful, isn't she? I'm sure you'll be just as pretty when you're grown.

At last his thoughts return to the little girl in his lap, who reminds him so much of her father with her fine, narrow features, grey eyes and pale skin, and he silently asks Sirius to forgive him.

This is for you, Draco, because my loved ones are gone, but you have left me yours.

"Let her claim go through the proper channels, Percy, I have no interest in blocking it."

Percy nods gravely. "Very well. You needn't concern yourself too much about her at the moment, anyway; it will likely take her at least two years to get through with it, and a lot can happen until then."

* * *

"We need to start thinking about a nursery school for Lucia."

Harry, who has been lazily playing with a strand of Pansy's damp hair, withdraws his hand with an expression of horror.

"Please tell me that's not what you've been thinking about the whole time!"

Pansy gives him a suggestive wink. "Were you under the impression that my thoughts were elsewhere?"

"No, but remarks like that while we're still naked in bed together aren't terribly reassuring in that regard." Harry sits up and fishes for his pyjama bottoms that have somehow ended up under the bed.

Pansy watches him get dressed with a thoughtful expression. "You know I'm right, though; she's going on four, we can't put it off any longer. I've heard good things about the school Millicent is running together with her husband. He's a Ravenclaw and a half-blood like Millicent, so there shouldn't be any ruffled feathers on either side if we send her there."

Harry, who has just pulled his pyjama jacket over his head, emerges with his hair sticking up in every direction. "For Heaven's sake, is our choice of school for our daughter a matter of national interest, too?"

"You're the Head of the Department for Education, of course it is," Pansy replies with a shrug. "But we can talk about it tomorrow, if it makes you feel better."

"Thanks a lot." Harry sits down on her bedside with a sigh. "Couldn't you have decided that before you went and killed the mood?"

Pansy raises an eyebrow. "You mean you'd have been up for seconds if I hadn't brought it up?" When Harry doesn't answer, she sits up and snuggles up to him, her bare breasts pressing against his back through the thin material of his pyjamas. "Why didn't you say so before?" Her arms sneak around his waist from behind, and Harry leans back into her embrace when she starts nibbling at his earlobe.

"How was I to know that... oh... you were going to - what was that?"

He sits up abruptly when he hears it again: someone's knocking at the door of Pansy's bedroom.

"Oh, hell!" Pansy jumps out of bed and hastily throws on her pyjamas. "Did Lucia spend a night in your bedroom lately?"

"Yes, but wh-"

"Why didn't you say, you moron? Thank God I locked the door!"

Harry watches her with a puzzled frown. "Does that mean she comes to sleep in your room too?"

Pansy, who is halfway to the door, throws him a very dark look. "It took you until now to notice that she takes turns between your room and mine? No, don't tell me, you thought she only came to you, didn't you?" Before he can answer, she has opened the door. "Sweetie, did you have a bad dream again? Come on, it's all right, Mummy is here now..."

Pansy comes back into the room with Lucia in her arms, and the little girl's face lights up when she spots Harry sitting on the bed. "Daddy! Are you sleeping here too tonight?" She seems so pleased by the idea that Harry doesn't have the heart to tell her that he won't. He throws Pansy a helpless look, but she merely shrugs.

"It - er, it seems so, unless your Mum -"

"Shut up and get into bed, for pity's sake," Pansy hisses under her breath, and Harry sees no other choice than to comply. He's surprised himself how awkward he finds the whole situation; he's had sex with Pansy in this bed numerous times, but he has never actually slept here. The bed is certainly big enough for them, but that's not the issue. Really sleeping together, waking up next to each other, suggests a degree of intimacy that he isn't sure he and Pansy will ever reach.

Lucia appears very happy with the arrangement, though; her bad dreams seem forgotten, and she quickly falls asleep between them without even asking for one of the bedtime stories she has become so fond of lately. Harry watches her sleep and wonders how long it will take until she finally loses her fear of the darkness completely. Things have already got better since Harry, after a lot of searching, dug up a charm to conjure a Fairy Light for her, a tiny ball of softly glowing light that she can hold in her hand and take to bed with her. Ever since, the frequency of her nightly visits has been decreasing, although Harry still isn't over the revelation that Lucia obviously took care to divide them equally between his and Pansy's room.

Pansy leans over Lucia and softly kisses her on the forehead. "Good night, my dear, and sweet dreams. Nox!"

As the room goes dark, Harry hears Pansy's voice whispering, "Potter?"

"Yes?"

"I hope you don't snore."

Harry grins into the darkness, heedless of the fact that she won't be able to see it. "I don't, but I remember Draco mentioning that you do."

It's silent for a moment before Pansy speaks up again. "Potter?"

"Hm?"

"Shut the hell up."

Harry's grin widens. "Good night to you too, Pansy."

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry is abruptly woken at half past one in the morning by a loud rap at the door. From the sound of it, it can't be Lucia, and he jumps out of bed with a feeling of dread because it's hardly ever good news that causes people to hammer against other people's bedroom doors in the middle of the night.

Pansy is standing in the corridor with a teary-eyed Lucia in her arms, her expression one of barely controlled annoyance. "Lucia just showed up in my bedroom."

"Oh." It's the only reply Harry can think of at the moment; Lucia hasn't come to his room since the night the three of them spent together in Pansy's bed, so he isn't sure why she'd go to Pansy again.

"Your daughter," Pansy continues with her eyes flashing dangerously, "seemed very surprised and extremely troubled by the fact that you weren't there."

If it weren't suicidal in the face of Pansy's anger, Harry would probably laugh now. Lucia's face is red and tear-stained, but her eyes are glittering with something that can only be described as satisfaction. No doubt about her house indeed. Draco, how proud are you of her right now?

With a theatrical sigh, Harry reaches for his dressing gown. He doesn't really mind all that much; it was actually quite nice to wake up in Pansy's bed. His arm had gone to sleep because Lucia was lying on it, but Pansy snoring softly into her pillow with a ridiculous bedhead was surprisingly cute to watch.

"Then I'll better come over, don't you think?"

"Probably." To his surprise, Pansy takes a step closer and casts a critical look around his bedroom. "You know, this might be a nice room for Lucia once the nursery becomes too small for her."

Harry just smiles and follows her out the door.

* * *

Pansy gives Harry an odd look when she returns from shopping in Diagon Alley with Lucia. "Sweetie, tell Mim to help you change and wash your hands, we'll have dinner in half an hour. You can show Dad your new robes afterwards."

Harry smiles when Lucia leaves the room with a pout; she's growing so fast now that she needs a new set of clothes every few months, and she's very peculiar about them and loves to show off new stuff. His smile evaporates when he notices Pansy's expression. "What's wrong?"

Pansy gestures for him to follow her into her study; she obviously doesn't want to be overheard, which makes Harry a bit apprehensive.

"We met Narcissa Malfoy at Madam Malkin's."

"Oh." Harry slowly lowers himself into one of Pansy's plush armchairs. "I had no idea she was showing herself in public already."

"Well, the fact that she brought her claim for the Manor through all the stages of appeal in less than eighteen months doesn't indicate she's desperate not to attract attention." Pansy has taken a seat across from Harry, her face carefully neutral.

"And she talked to you?"

"Yes, of course she did, we've known each other forever." Pansy hesitates for a moment, but then presses on. "She has invited us for tea next Sunday."

"You mean, 'us' as in you and Lucia?"

"No, I mean 'us' as in 'us'." Pansy sighs when she sees Harry frown. "And yes, before you ask, she knows perfectly well who I'm married to. She's remarkably up to date, as far as I could tell; makes you wonder who her informants were while she was in France."

"She's got some nerve, I'll give her that." Harry is rather surprised how calm he feels. "Pansy, you don't seriously believe I'd ever accept an invitation by Narcissa Malfoy? The fact that I did nothing to keep her from returning and getting the Manor back doesn't mean I did it for her sake, you know."

"Of course I know." Pansy is very serious now. "Let me tell you something about Narcissa Malfoy, Harry: she never cared much about politics our power, but she was capable of doing anything, and I mean anything, for her family's sake. She stood by Lucius because he was her husband, even though I'm sure she didn't have much interest in the Dark Lord herself; she did everything in her power to keep Draco from harm, and she only went into exile after Draco had left the Dark Lord because he convinced her that her continuing presence would make him vulnerable. I know that you blame her for Sirius Black's death, and you may even be right. Narcissa is the kind of woman who would kill with her own bare hands if she had to in order to protect her loved ones, and if you think she deserves punishment, I'm telling you that there could have been no harsher punishment for her than the fact that neither her husband nor her son survived the war while she did."

"It makes you wonder what keeps her going, doesn't it?" Harry asks quietly.

Pansy's eyes narrow. "What do you mean? She has no way of knowing about Lucia's parentage, if that's what you're thinking of. The only one besides you who knows is Snape, and he keeps his secrets."

"She's seen her now, though, hasn't she?"

"Yes, but..." Pansy hesitates again. "Harry, I know you keep saying how much Lucia looks like Draco, and I see it myself, but I'm afraid it's mostly because we want to see him in her. She has his eyes, but apart from that, I doubt there's anything in her looks that would make anyone but us think of Draco."

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. "We're not telling Narcissa, then?"

"No, of course not. We've come quite far, but there's still a long way to go until it will be safe to be officially associated with the Malfoy family again. She knows that, by the way; you needn't fear that you'll find news about your visit to Malfoy Manor in the papers if you should decide to go."

Harry takes a deep breath. "Why are you so desperate to accept her invitation? Were you ever that fond of her?"

Pansy shrugs. "Not particularly, no. But she is Lucia's grandmother, and I'd like Lucia to know about her roots, even if we can't tell her the truth at this point." She reaches out and, just for a moment, covers his hand with hers. "Harry, if you really don't want me to take Lucia to her, I won't. But promise you'll at least think about it, all right?"

Harry nods and remembers the expression on Draco's face when he spoke to Dumbledore about his parents. "I will."

* * *

Harry walks in on Pansy and Lucia looking at one of Pansy's photo albums in the living room the following evening. He stops short on the threshold, but Pansy merely raises her head for a second and silently beckons him to join them.

Harry sits down beside Lucia, who is looking at the pictures with rapt attention, and tries very hard to keep his hands from trembling. They've both told Lucia stories about Draco before; Harry knows Pansy has also shown her some photos, but never in his presence. Harry hasn't seen this particular album before, which is filled with photos from what must be their first years at Hogwarts, and he is strangely fascinated by seeing Draco laugh among his friends, his expression relaxed and free of malice, completely different from the sneer he wore whenever Harry got to see him. Of course, Harry thinks with a pang of bitter regret, it may well be that he has seen Draco laugh like this plenty of times and always saw malice in his laughter because he was expecting it.

God, what I would give for a second chance. Harry's gaze drifts from the photos to Lucia's face, which is set in an expression of concentration, and it seems to him he can hear Draco answer in his mind, That's exactly what you've got here, Harry.

"Is that you, Mum?" Lucia asks, pointing at a short, dark-haired girl who's grinning and waving. Harry looks at the picture and can't help thinking that Pansy really didn't deserve to be called pug-faced even then; she wasn't pretty, but definitely not as hideous as his memory insists she was.

Pansy nods. "Yes, that's me, between Draco and Daphne Greengrass - you've met her at school, dear, she's Katie Davies' mum - during our second year."

"Why isn't Dad in any of the pictures?" The question is innocent enough, but Harry still tenses. Pansy, however, seems unperturbed. "That's because we weren't friends at school."

"But Dad said he was friends with Draco!" Lucia insists, and Pansy merely smiles. "Yes, but that was after school. Sometimes people don't get along so well at first and come to like each other later, you know?"

"Like you and Dad?" Lucia asks earnestly, and Harry and Pansy exchange a surprised look. Now it's Pansy who seems uncertain how to react, but Harry comes to her rescue. "Yes, like your Mum and I."

Lucia nods, obviously satisfied with the answer, and keeps listening to Pansy's explanation of the photos until she suddenly interrupts her with the question, "Are there any pictures of Dad when he was a boy?"

Pansy hesitates. "I have no idea. Are there, Harry?"

"Not many, but I have a few. Wait a moment, poppet, I'll be right back." Feeling oddly pleased, Harry goes to get the photo album Hagrid gave him all those years ago.

* * *

"Pansy, what a pleasure to have you here. Mr Potter, I'm happy you decided to accept my invitation. Please come in."

Harry didn't expect Narcissa Malfoy to open the door herself, since he can't imagine her living in the huge Manor without at least a dozen house-elves at her beck and call. She has aged considerably since he last saw her fifteen years ago; it's impossible to tell whether there's white in her blonde hair, but her face is much thinner and bonier than he remembers it, with fine lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth; there's an air of frailty about her, as if she were made of glass and might break at the lightest touch.

Her posture, however, is still elegantly poised when she steps back from the door to let them enter. Pansy pushes Lucia forward who, in a rare display of shyness, is holding on to her mother's robes, but obediently steps over the threshold. When Pansy and Harry try to follow her, however, a silvery barrier appears out of thin air and blocks their path, giving Harry a jolt that feels like an electric shock. His hand goes for his wand before his brain even has had time to catch up with what's happening, but Pansy's hand on his arm stops him before he can draw it.

"Don't, there's no need."

"I apologise," Narcissa says and banishes the barrier with a flick of her wand so that Harry and Pansy can enter; Harry quickly takes Lucia's hand to make sure they can't be separated again. "I realise this was inexcusably rude of me, but I hope you can understand that I had to be certain."

Harry has no idea what she's babbling about, but it seems that Pansy has.

"Blood Wards."

Narcissa inclines her head a fraction. "Indeed."

* * *

"Lucia, my dear, you must be quite bored by now. Would you like to go outside and play a bit? I'll send one of my house-elves to accompany you."

Lucia seems relieved, but she knows better than to just accept Mrs Malfoy's offer. "Mum, Dad, can I?"

"Of course, sweetie," Pansy answers before Harry can get a word in. He isn't happy about the idea of Lucia wandering around Malfoy Manor with only a Malfoy house-elf for company, and although Pansy has already agreed, he can at least make sure that Lucia is watched by someone he trusts.

"No need to bother your house-elves, Mrs Malfoy." Harry claps his hands, glad that he remembered to come prepared in case they need someone to look after Lucia. "Mim!"

Mim appears with a crack and bows deeply. "Mrs Malfoy, Mim is most glad to see you again."

Mrs Malfoy raises a pencilled eyebrow. "I didn't know you were in Mr Potter's service now."

"Mim takes care of Miss Lucia, Mrs Malfoy."

A small, sad smile plays around Narcissa's mouth for a moment. "How perfectly fitting."

"Yes, Mim thinks so too." To his astonishment, Harry sees Mrs Malfoy's smile reflected in Mim's face. He'd never have expected Mim to catch on about Lucia's true parentage, but judging from his expression, he has known for a long time. "Mim will be most glad to show Miss Lucia around the Manor."

When the elf has ushered Lucia out the door, Mrs Malfoy slowly sets her tea cup aside. "I take it you had no intention to tell me."

"You still didn't tell us how you knew in the first place," Harry reminds her, determined to play his cards close to his chest.

"I may have been in exile, Mr Potter, but I still read the papers. Do you honestly believe I wouldn't recognise a grandchild of mine in a press photo, especially when she looks exactly like my son did at the same age?"

Harry frowns. "You're trying to make me believe you saw a family resemblance in a photo of Lucia when she was two days old? Come on."

Mrs Malfoy gives him a cool look. "All infants may look the same to you, Mr Potter, but I assure you that's not the case for a mother. That, and the fact that you had married Pansy, with whom you had had no previous relationship, had me convinced that you were raising my son's daughter." Interpreting Harry's dumbfounded expression correctly, she adds calmly, "Yes, I did know about your involvement with Draco, in case you're still wondering. He was never very good at hiding anything from me that he felt strongly about."

"You know that you must not tell her about this, Mrs Malfoy, don't you?" Pansy sounds calm too, but it's obvious that she means it as a warning, not as a question.

"Of course," Narcissa replies, "I have no intention to upset her life, or yours, over this. I'm aware that she must never learn about her true - "

"Actually," Harry interrupts her, "we do intend to tell her eventually."

There is a pause; Narcissa looks as if she had trouble believing that she's heard him correctly. "You do."

"Absolutely," Harry replies firmly, "I have no intention to steal Draco's daughter from him; I want her to know who her father was once she's old enough and the time is right. She's but a child now, and Draco's reputation has not yet been cleared, but neither is going to remain true forever. Times are changing, Mrs Malfoy, you of all people should know that."

Narcissa keeps her gaze fixed on him, as if she were trying to read his true intentions in his eyes. "If it weren't the case, I wouldn't be here, Mr Potter, would I? The Minister informed me that I have you to thank you for that."

"Don't thank me." Harry keeps his tone deliberately icy. "I assure you I didn't do it for your sake."

Strangely, this seems to amuse Narcissa. "That, Mr Potter, goes without saying." She turns to Pansy when she continues, "Are you planning for her parentage to become public knowledge eventually?"

"You mean if we want her to carry Draco's name? You know I'd have to claim a secret marriage for that."

Narcissa gives a minuscule shrug. "That's not going to happen, is it? You would need two witnesses who could testify -"

"She has them."

Both Narcissa and Pansy turn to stare at Harry after that pronouncement. Narcissa's eyes are wide, Pansy's narrowed, but both look at him with equal disbelief.

At last, Narcissa turns back to Pansy. "You have two people to testify whose word would not be gainsaid? Who are they?"

Pansy's eyes are still on Harry when she answers. "One is Headmaster Snape. The other one -"

"- is me," Harry finishes calmly.

Your mother was willing to send people to their deaths for you, Draco. What's a little lie for your daughter's sake, compared to that?

Pansy's eyes are suddenly brimming with tears. "Harry..."

"I've been thinking," Harry says and reaches for her hand, "and it seems to me that it's time we take Lucia to the graveyard."

* * *

Lucia talks about nothing but the visit to the Manor for days. It's especially the ancestral gallery which seems to have impressed her greatly.

"There were so many pictures there, Daddy, and they all talked to me! They said they knew me!"

Since this is the tenth time she mentions it, Harry no longer feels uneasy about it; Mim has assured him the portraits didn't tell Lucia anything she isn't supposed to know.

"There even was a picture of Draco, but he was so small in it - a lot smaller than I am!" Lucia draws herself up proudly, as if to demonstrate her five-year old maturity. "And he talked to me and told me what it was like to live at the Manor! I've heard so many stories about him, it was great to talk to him!"

Harry hates magical portraits with a passion; in his experience, they make you feel the loss of the real person even more keenly by presenting an image that is nothing but echo and shadow.

"Lucia," he says gently while he sits down and pulls her on his lap, "you know that you didn't really talk to him, don't you? It was just an enchanted picture."

Lucia pouts. "I know, Dad, I'm not a baby!" She's playing with her pigtails, which is usually a sign that there's something on her mind. "Where is he, then?" she asks eventually. "I mean, if he's not in his picture, where did he go when he died?"

Harry takes a deep breath, forcing himself to keep smiling at her. "Why are you asking?"

"Mum said - she said we will go to see his grave soon. Is he there?"

"No, sweetie," Harry replies firmly, "it's difficult to understand, but it's only the body that gets buried. It's - you know, it's like a shell that remains behind when somebody dies." He isn't sure that a child of five will be able to understand this, but then, he thinks, it's not as if anyone could ever truly understand these things.

Lucia nods earnestly. "But where do people go then? Do they become ghosts?"

This, at least, is somewhat firmer ground for a magical child than it is for Muggles. "Some of them do," Harry answers, "if they feel they still have unfinished business. Most people don't, though."

"And where do these go?" Lucia can be quite tenacious when she wants to get to the bottom of a question.

"I don't know, poppet." Harry pauses for a moment before he continues, with great care, "Nobody knows. The only thing I'm certain of is that those who - those who had loved ones never truly leave them; in some way, they are always around them."

Lucia frowns, and again, he wonders whether he told her more than a five-year old mind can cope with. At last, she asks, "Like your Mum and Dad?"

"Yes, like them, and many others who loved me and are no longer alive."

She ponders this further before she asks, "Draco too?"

Harry has to blink a few times to keep his eyes from misting over. "Yes, Draco too."

"Then why are we going to the graveyard?"

This gives Harry pause; it's a question he has never really asked himself. "It's a place of remembrance," he says eventually, "we go there as a sign that we have not forgotten those who are buried there, that their memory is still with us."

Lucia nods again, and Harry can only hope the answer made sense to her. "What does it look like?"

"It's very nice, you'll see. There are trees and flowers, and it's quiet and peaceful."

"Is it dark there?"

This is unexpected; it's been a while since Lucia has last spoken of her fear of the dark, and Harry has been hoping that she's over it. "We're going in the evening, but we'll be back before nightfall, so it won't be dark. Sometimes people also put candles on the graves to make sure that the nights aren't so dark at the graveyard."

She slides from his lap, looking excited. "When are we going?"

Harry smiles at her enthusiasm, even though he's not sure what made her so eager all of a sudden. "Soon, poppet, I promise."

* * *

"Here we are."

Pansy lets go of Lucia's hand when they reach Draco's grave. Harry, who has been walking behind them, steps up to Pansy and, after a glance at her face, wraps an arm around her shoulders since she looks ready to burst into tears. He has never seen her like this, not even when he caught her at her lonely visit to the graveyard shortly after Lucia's birth.

Lucia takes a tentative step forward. "Can I...?"

"Just go ahead," Pansy tells her, and Harry is glad to hear that her voice is still firm.

Lucia steps up to the headstone and inspects it carefully. She runs her fingers over the inscription just like Pansy did back then, and Harry realises that his own eyes are beginning to sting now. He has been here more often than he can count, but this is different; the sight of Lucia beside her father's grave is something that will stay with him for a long time.

"What does it say?"

Pansy reads the inscription to her and translates the Latin words, and Lucia just nods with great solemnity and doesn't ask anything else.

Up in the sky, the reddish glow of the sunset is fading. They had to come late in the evening to make sure there were no other visitors at the graveyard because Harry's and Lucia's presence at Draco's grave would raise questions Harry is not prepared to answer yet.

He hopes very much that there will come a day when he can stand here in broad daylight without having to hide.

"It's getting dark, poppet, we should leave now," Harry admonishes Lucia eventually and holds out his hand towards her, but she shakes her head.

"Not yet, Daddy, I've brought something..."

She reaches into the folds of her cloak and pulls out a tiny, glowing ball - the Fairy Light that she has kept on her bedside table ever since Harry conjured it for her. She places it on the stone slab that covers the grave, where it casts a small circle of warm, soft light on the dark stone. Then she takes a step back to admire the arrangement and says, in a tone of deep satisfaction, "Now he won't have to worry about the dark any more."

Harry hastily wipes his eyes with his sleeve, but a look at Pansy tells him that he needn't have bothered. The tears are flowing freely over Pansy's cheeks; she neither makes a sound nor moves to wipe them away, and Harry tightens his arm around her shoulders since there is nothing else he can do to make this easier for her.

I can only hope that I do get to see you again one day, you selfish bastard, so that I can kick your arse for expecting us to deal with the mess you left behind, Harry thinks grimly and takes some consolation from the image of Draco's affronted face in his mind. That is, if Pansy doesn't get to you first.

* * *

Harry has come to love these moments, when he's spooned tightly against Pansy's naked back with his arm around her so that he can idly play with her breasts while they both get their breath back. Pansy often teases him about his fixation with her breasts, but it doesn't bother him particularly; he likes the feeling of them, warm, smooth and soft, when he traces their swell with his hands and teases the nipples with his fingertips.

Lately, though, he has noticed that they feel a bit different, their usual softness replaced by a taut, heavy fullness. They also seem more sensitive, because Pansy yelps and swats his hand away when he gently pinches her nipple. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he replies, a bit stung by the ungracious reaction, "I thought you liked - "

"Is there nothing useful you could be doing with your hands instead?" she asks pointedly, taking Harry by surprise - it's very unlike Pansy to ask for more immediately after a quite satisfying first round.

He obediently lets his hand glide lower while he leans forward to whisper in her ear, "Look who's randy tonight!"

"Shut up, Potter," she hisses at him, "there are -"

"- more useful things I could be doing with my mouth," Harry finishes for her and starts nibbling at her neck while his fingers slip between her thighs and start stroking. She covers his hand with hers, increasing the pressure, and Harry is surprised again; she seems to like sex with him well enough, but she's hardly ever this eager. She comes quickly, her body tightening and trembling under his touch, her pulse fluttering under his lips on her neck, and he can't help wondering what it is that got her so worked up tonight.

It takes a while until her breathing returns to normal, but when she has finally calmed down, she turns on her back and gives Harry a shrewd look. "You know, I've been thinking."

"Oh no, not again!" Harry flings an arm over his face with a groan. "Pansy, can we, just for once, not discuss politics, school, or your parents right after?"

"Not a problem," she replies, completely unabashed, "I had something else in mind. I've been thinking about what you told Mrs Malfoy."

Harry tenses. "What do you mean?"

"When you said that you'll give me your testimony, so that Lucia can come into her inheritance. Are you really sure you're all right with that? With her being Draco's heiress instead of yours, I mean?"

"Yes, of course I am." Harry has no idea where she's going with this; when has he ever cared about matters of inheritance and family names? It was Draco who considered these things important, not him. "She's his daughter, and I'm sure it's what he would have wanted."

"But what about you? Wouldn't you want to see your line continued? The Potters are a very old and respected family, after all."

Harry shakes his head. "Pansy, why are you worrying about that all of a sudden? I don't remember my parents or any other relatives from my father's side, so the Potter family line really is none of..."

He falls silent when it's finally beginning to dawn on him what this might really be about. "Pansy, is this your extremely roundabout way of telling me that you want another child?" Now that he hears himself say the words, it seems exceedingly strange that this possibility has never even occurred to him before.

"No," Pansy replies curtly, and Harry decides to immediately forget about the idea because there is every chance that he'll start liking it if he allows himself to ponder it further.

When Pansy doesn't elaborate, however, he sits up and frowns at her. "Well, what is it then? You still haven't told me why you're suddenly contemplating the Potter pedigree."

"Potter, you complete, utter idiot." Pansy pushes herself up on her elbows and gives him a look that is half exasperation and half pity. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm pregnant. Was that clear enough, or do I have to puke all over you to drive my point home? Because that can probably be arranged soon enough."

She raises an eyebrow when Harry just stares at her, his mouth open and his mind completely numb. "Well? What do you say?"

Eventually, all that Harry gets out is a strangled, "Really? I mean - you're sure?"

Her face is lit up by a soft little smile when she replies, "I'm sure, yes." At last, she takes pity on him and holds out her hand towards him to break him out of his stupor. "Come here."

"I'm sorry," Harry murmurs into her hair once her arms are around him, "it's just that - I never thought..."

He rather feels than hears the low chuckle deep in Pansy's chest that is pressed against his own. "You'll get used to the idea."

"Yes," Harry answers and feels a curious warmth spread within him while he holds her as tightly as he dares, "I'm sure I will."