It Didn't Occur To Me

This chapter is written in Draco's Point of View.

WARNING: This story contains strong language (especially Draco's POV chaps) and to avoid hurt feelings, I've put this warning up. =)

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to JKR. This idea came to me while talking to Shinks and reading the only GW story I've ever read, and it was fucking great. *huggles Duo and sticks tongue out at Jean-Claude and Dray*

Disclaimer 2: Reese belongs to Shinks. Harley belongs to Shinks. Teely belongs to Shinks. I don't own anything except the plot. Er, guess that's it for now.

This is dedicated to my betas:
DM-n-HP, Shinks, and I KNOW I'm forgetting some people..*thinks hard*..oh well, this is dedicated to you, too!

I felt like absolute shit. There wasn't any other kid of word to describe the way I felt right now. I knew where I was, and I didn't want to be here. It meant I was alive, and that someone had found me.

I opened my eyes, realizing that someone was shaking my shoulders roughly. Pain shot through my arms, and I moaned, trying to get the hands off me. I vaguely remembered the day before-the hysteria, and waking up late at night from a nightmare. Someone had hit the goblet from my hand. Dammit. Pomfrey said I probably dropped it. Bitch.

"Are there any belongings of yours you need to bring home with you?"

My father stood above me. I couldn't read his face. There seemed to be some form of anger there. Maybe he was angry at himself?

Hell no.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. I just stared at him, feeling worse than I did a minute ago. The way he stared at me, disappointed almost, didn't help the fact that my arms hurt like hell. I didn't want to look at the damage I'd caused.

I didn't have any belongings that I wanted to bring home. All that I had at school were the books and papers, and I only brought those home on summer vacation.

"You had your mother worried sick," Lucify (my name for him; it made him seem more senile than anything else whenever he was mad at me) spat before turning on his heel. He strode to the door, and said over his shoulder: "Just so you know, son, our plan is almost past phase three. You will not pull another stunt like the one yesterday to try and avoid it."

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

The door slammed shut behind him, giving me a moment to myself. Slowly, I pulled back the blanket that the Hospital Wing provided (flimsy and worth a knut; I was definitely treated like royal family here) and stared at the white bandages on my arms. Er, well, they were white. The top part was white, clean, but underneath, on the bottom, was blood-soaked. I wanted to throw up, but I hadn't eaten in days, and I couldn't remember if I'd eaten at all in the past week.

My upper arms hurt. When I moved them, they burned like fire, and I imagined flames licking the wounds. I couldn't even think of what everyone else must think of me now, after seeing me like this.

I rolled over onto my side and tried to throw up. My stomach flipped over and over, thinking about what I'd done. Nothing came up, since nothing had gone down, and I was thankful for that. I was embarrassed enough as it was.

"Draco?"

I swallowed back bile and rolled onto my back again. Mother was standing in the doorway, just....staring at me. I knew that look. She used it on father many times, when she disapproved of something he was doing. It was usually on her face-but she never looked at me like that.

"'Lo, mother," I said quietly. I didn't know what else to say. Fuck me if I didn't feel awkward enough as it is, but to see mother just staring at me like....like I was a bad person-it was enough to drive anyone insane.

Mother broke. She rushed into the room, the door slamming behind her. She grabbed my shoulders and forced me up, and hugged me tightly. I couldn't do anything. It hurt to move my arms, so I sat rigidly in her arms, not knowing what else to do.

She must've realized I was hurting, so she let go of me and sat down in the chair beside my bed. Then she stared at me again, unblinking, with all of her emotions in her face.

I turned my eyes from her.

"Son?" she asked, and reached for my right hand. I jerked it away from her, and gritted my teeth in pain. She brought her hand back to her lap, obviously hurt by my neglect. Sue me. "Son, why? Why did you do this?" I was silent. I honestly didn't have an answer. Well, I did, but it wasn't a good enough one, and I didn't dare tell her what it was. "Was it your father? Did he threaten you? Or hurt you?"

I laughed bitterly, but didn't raise my eyes to her face. "Lucius didn't hurt me mother."

"Draco," Mother hesitated, then reached for my hand again. I let her take it. "The baby..he's due soon. In a few months. You....you shouldn't do this, honey. You can't."

Whenever in doubt -fuck the world. The world was a horrible place, no matter which point of view you take. The rich, snobby kid approach, or the Locked-In-The-Cupboard approach. No matter which direction you look to, the world is not pretty, even to the most gorgeous creatures.

"Talk to me, honey. Please. It hurts me so much to see you like this. I-I don't know why you did this," she squeezed my hand, and I could feel my throat tighten. Dammit, why did I do this to her? "You have to stay strong. If not for me, then for your son."

I hated those two words. 'Your son'. It was dirty, evil, and all around a pain in the arse. I let it go, because I'm a gentleman, and because I didn't know what to say. Was I going to start an argument with her, denying the fact that I was going to be a father? No. Denial is the wrong path to take in life. But hey, look at me right now. I was sitting in the Hospital Wing because I tried to kill myself to get away from fatherhood....and other things.

"Mother," I sighed, and sank back into the bed. I squeezed her hand that was still holding onto mine. My father had told me once that lying was only telling your version of the truth. Lying made people happy. If you got hit by the Knight Bus, and someone asked if you were all right, you'd say yes, right? This was the same position, kind of. "I'll be okay."

"I told your father you were too young. Sixteen was too young," Mother buried her head in the flimsy blanket and cried. I turned my head from her and stared out the window at the gray rain clouds. Crap, she was crying.

What was I supposed to say? It's okay, mother, I love you? It wasn't going to be okay. Shit, it was far from okay. I coined the phrase 'Always 'n Forever....Fuck The World' because I'm seventeen and all this crap happened. God dammit.

Luckily, a man walked into the room with a woman following him quickly. They both wore white jackets, and for a second I thought they were shrinks. Maybe they were, but my father wouldn't admit that I was crazy. Hell, I wouldn't admit I was crazy. I'd admit my father was, though.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. I'm glad to see you awake," the man said, and waved his wand slowly over my body. I knew who he was, but, God-I wasn't that screwed up, was I?

I watched the doctor light the tip of his wand and wave the light in front of my eyes. I didn't know what he was doing, so I stared at him for a minute before I followed the light with my eyes.

"Slow reactions," the doctor said to the woman beside him, and she wrote it down quickly on her clipboard. Professional. He looked at me again. "I need to ask you a few questions, and then you can go home," He paused, as if waiting for an answer. Well, shit, I'm not going to give him the pleasure of speaking to him. "Right, well, how are you feeling? Upset, angry, tired?"

I stared at him for a long moment, willing him to back down. He just stared back. This time, he was going to wait for an answer. My eyes flicked down to the crimson stained bandages. Some of the blood had dried and was a copper colour. And my arms hurt. This man was scaring me, too. He had grey hair, really, really grey, and it was curly and almost a fro. An old white guy with a grey fro.

Gag me.

He had to be like 60 years old, too. Okay, not that old, but damn close. What the hell does he know about..about being screwed up? This many never was screwed up, because he's still alive. Again, I must point out that he's old.

"Well?" he asked, raising a bushy grey eyebrow.

His bright blue eyes were staring at me curiously underneath the caterpillars that were bound to crawl away anytime.

"Pissed off," I replied, and turned my eyes from his face and stared out the window to the darkened clouds outside.

"Anything else?"

Fuck, he was persistent. "I also feel like tearing out your throat. Is that a legitament answer?"

The doctor just nodded. The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard. I wanted to rip out her throat, too, but you know how shit happens.

"How are you feeling physically?"

Hello?! Am I not sitting here in the Hospital Wing with gauze on my slit arms?

"I feel great, doctor," I said, hoping he'd pick up on my sarcasm. This lying thing works like a charm, because he just smiled at me and nodded.

"I see that," he replied before growing serious again. I hate him. "Do you feel like cutting yourself again?"

What the hell is it to him? It's not really his business. Jackass.

I folded my arms and just stared at the blanket. I didn't even know this fool would ask me questions. Maybe I should've had a better plan than this. Quick, Malfoy, lie your ass off.

"No, sir, I don't," I said, trying to be sincere. I kept my eyes down, trying to look ashamed. Actually, I was quite ashamed of myself, but I didn't want to show it. I hurt my mother, and it upset me.

My mother was standing behind the nurse. She was silently crying. Fuck.

The doctor stared at me a moment. He knew I was lying. Double fuck.

"Your father insists on having you at home, and he insists that you have scars," The doctor had a distasteful look on his face. I assumed it was because my father wanted me to have scars to remind me of how fucked up I am, and maybe that wasn't a good idea. Eh, well, Lucify likes to make things hard for everyone. "Mrs. Malfoy, could I speak with you, please? Draco -"

"Mr. Malfoy," I corrected. How dare he call me by my first name?

"Mr. Malfoy, if you'd like to get changed and showered, you may. Erin needs to change your bandages as well," the doctor didn't even offer me a smile this time. What a bully.

"Do I have any new robes, at least?" I asked, looking around the room for maybe an outfit my mother or father had left.

"Ah," the doctor shrugged. "Speak with your father about that."

I'd rather sit in this flimsy hospital gown, but screw it. I didn't want to argue, and I sure as hell didn't want to sit in there with this man any longer. I think he was undressing me with his blue eyes, which were nearly hidden underneath the grey caterpillars.

I started to stand up, but the nurse-Erin-ran forward and grabbed my shoulder gently. I shrugged her off without saying anything, and pulled myself up to my feet...

And landed on my face.

"Draco," Mother stepped forward, reaching her hand out. I struggled to push myself up, but my arms were shaking, and now my legs. My head swam and I was seeing black dots.

"Lack of food, and the amount of blood he lost yesterday," the doctor explained flippantly. Fuck him.

"I don't need any help, " I barked at the nurse, and tried again to lift myself. My bandaged arms stung and shook more as I managed to get onto my knees. My mother reached over and helped me up, despite my glaring at her. She was only trying to help.

With the help of my mother, I made it to the bathroom door that was connected to the Wing. My legs were shaking horribly, and I was trying my best to calm myself, but I couldn't. I didn't think I could make it into the shower at this rate without any help. Mother seemed to sense my frustration, too.

"Dear, maybe you should clean up later?" Mother suggested, and I tensed up. If I cleaned up later, she'd have to clean my cuts, and -

Father stormed into the room. "Let's get going, Narcissa, Draco," he crossed his arms indignantly. Fuck him.

"Lucius," Mother turned to him, and I could see tears in her eyes. God dammit, I hate making her cry. "Draco needs his bandages changed."

"We can do that at the Manor. We cannot stall, Narcissa," he stared at both of us. Well, me, rather, with a look of distaste. "The guests are arriving, wife, son," he nodded once before turning and leaving the room.

"Mother," I said, and realized it came out softer than I had intended. She had been staring at the door, but now she was staring at me, her face expressionless. "Are they at the Manor?"

It was a dumb question. I knew what the answer was before she even opened her mouth. "Yes, son. They'll be discussing your situation, and the next step. Come, let's go home where you can shower and Harley can change your bandages."

I hated house elves touching me. I absolutely hated it. I hated it more than hurting mother. There was just something about their ugly faces and hands touching me. God, it made me was to puke everywhere. It wasn't such a bad idea.

Instead of saying what was on my mind, I said: "Okay, mother."

Hey, if I was going home where I could be alone, I didn't want anything else to go wrong.

Unfortunately, as I've said before, the world sucks, so we should fuck it. After I managed to get back to my bed in the Hospital Wing, a wheelchair had been conjured up. The doctor, though displeased beyond reason, allowed me to go, with the promise I wouldn't do anything to myself.

Pfft, yeah right.

I had to be portkeyed away from Hogwarts. I would've been sick all over mother's "good" rug in the dining hall, but since I hadn't eaten, well, it's all good.

"Son," Father said, pushing the wheelchair into the center of the ballroom. I felt the eyes of -cue dramatic music- the Death Eaters staring at me. I think they were just as ashamed of me as my father and mother were.

I bowed my head, staring hard at my lap. Suddenly, I felt like shit for doing this to everyone else. So many people depended on me. Yes, they were bad people, and yes, they depended on me for the wrong things, but fuck a duck, they were ashamed.

I wanted to die because of this. This Manor, and the people who practically lived here. And him. Can't forget him. I could feel him staring at me from across the room without even looking up. God, I wasn't going to start freaking out. At least let me stay strong until I get out of this fucking room.

Despite my pleas to want to be either invisible or dead, he saw me. Slowly, he raised from his chair, and in a quick motion, he strode up to me in my little wheelchair and stared down at me, his red eyes empty of any kind of emotion. His whole face was like that. Emotionless. Hell, I was just glad he didn't care about what I'd done. One less ashamed person staring at me.

"Boy," he said. The one word made me shudder, and a knot at the pit of my stomach began to form. "Why did you do this?"

Dammit, I hate being wrong. He was ashamed of me, but not because I had almost died. I could see he wished I hadn't lived.

I could feel the eyes of the Death Eaters on me, waiting for my answer. If you're ever in this situation, the best way out is a lie. "I don't know."

He just stared at me for the longest time. His red eyes were narrowed, and his lips were pursed. His hands beside his body clenched into fists and then unclenched, as if he were resisting the urge to hit me. The sleeves of his dark robe hung down to the middle of his palms, and were wrinkled from where his hands balled the fabric into his fists.

The Death Eaters were shuffling their feet, trying to be calm, but I knew they desperately wanted to leave. They were just itching to get out of this room, but hell, so was I.

"You are a coward," Voldemort said after almost five minutes of silence. Everyone let out a relieved sigh. Was it relieved? The way he said it, though, was like he was just stating a fact. He didn't sneer or hiss it, he just said it as if he were talking about the fucking weather.

I hated it. I felt even worse than I had when mother was crying over what I'd done. Shit, shit shit. I knew he was right.

"He is more than a coward, master."

Always rely on Lucify to get his word in.

"Indeed," Voldemort stared at me again, and I saw his eyes flicker to the bandages on my arms. He didn't say anything else about it. "Onto why you are all here," he turned and began pacing the length of the dining hall. Shoulders sagged, as did mine, from the eased tension. "The girl is seven months pregnant. Lucius, has she been disruptive?"

All eyes turned from me to my father. I couldn't look at any of them, trying to be neutral in this conversation, though I really did want to know how she was doing.

"She has not been as disruptive as the first few months," Father explained, and I could hear him tapping his wand against the table. "My wife has kept her company in these cold months. I haven't gotten involved with it. My wife has insisted women should be warm, well fed, and kept company in the last months."

"Draco," Voldemort stopped in front of my chair again. Slowly, I looked up, feeling my heart in my throat. I swallowed, but kept my face hard, not wanting to break. No, I will not break in here. "Have you seen your wife lately?"

"No," I swallowed again, screwing my face into a sneer my father used when talking about mother.

"Have you written her?"

"Father told me not to," I said truthfully. "He said that she did not need my support, therefore I keep to myself. She is not permitted to write letters to anyone."

"Pity," Voldemort turned his back on me. Fuck him. He didn't feel pity toward her. I was probably the only one in the room who felt guilty about....about everything, hence why I'm stuck in this wheelchair with bloody bandages on my arms.

"Master," Father stepped forward, beside my chair. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, and wanted to throw up on his dragonhide boots. "The girl wishes to see her husband."

I had hoped I could avoid her this Christmas. Now that was a pity.

"Alone?"

Father nodded.

"Very well. The boy seems to need to be around others' who have sunk as low as he," Voldemort shot a glare at me. I shrank in my chair, but didn't lose the scowl on my face.

The room was getting too warm for me, and I could feel my heart about to beat itself out of my chest. God, god dammit. I wanted to get out of here, and go shower and sleep, and then..then I'd think about what the hell I was going to do.

My head began to hurt. It was a dull pain, but strong enough to piss me off.

"We are going to discuss this plan, now," Voldemort started, then looked at me disdainfully. "You can go now. I wanted to see for myself what filth you've become."

I should've spit on him and gave him a nice one-finger salute, but instead, I scowled. I was starting to feel sick, and honestly, I didn't want to suffer a beating or whatever he had up his sleeve.

Harley, my house elf, had been standing by the door of the dining hall. He hurried over and, with great effort, began pushing my chair. I should've helped him, but I was too damn worn out.

Yeah, that's it.

The whole way upstairs, all I could think about was her, us, and myself. Shit, mother was right. I was too fucking young to be doing this. Father had forced the baby issue; mother had forced the marriage. And my only way out was death, wasn't it? Death wasn't something you can just....come back from if you wanted to. Hell, most zombies don't even like to be re-raised.

Which brings me to another point. Who the hell took me to the Hospital Wing? What the hell were they thinking, that I was pretending I wanted to die? That I was joking around when I cut my arms up? Whoever it was, I swear to Merlin, I was going to tear apart with my hands.

My bedroom was, for the most part, bare. High ceilings dominated the room. At night, when I was a little kid, I'd stare up at the dark ceiling, and wonder if there were any vampire bats up there, waiting for their moment to strike. Bats had been up there, but they weren't vampires. Still, I hadn't slept in that room for a year.

The four poster bed was large enough to hold four Hagrids, and then some. I hardly used it when I was home. It was just..too big, and now, of course, the memories were too strong. Whenever I was home, I slept in the adjacent guest bedroom that had a smaller bed that could only hold two Hagrids. Yes, only hold two.

Curtains, thick ones, hung on the bed. They were white, making the almost completely black room look inviting. Those curtains were absolutely great. Mother had them special made for me when I had a phase where I stayed up all night and slept during the day. Good curtains kept the sunlight out.

I had dark oak furniture that was decorated with small dragon statues and drawings. I didn't draw them, because I suck. Instead, father had paid a generous amount of money to different artists to draw them up.

I had flags in my room decorating the stone walls. They were written in old latin, and they once belonged to the original owner of Malfoy Manor. He had hired a witch to make him these flags, hundreds of them, and paid to have protecting charms placed on them. Somewhere along the lines, I think great great great great great great (etc) grandpa Malfoy had pissed the witch off, because the protection spells didn't work.

Bastards.

Mother was sitting on my bed when I was wheeled into my bedroom. She looked relieved that I was the way she left me.

"Harley, draw a bath for my son," she instructed the elf, who gladly ran to the adjacent bathroom and immediately started the tap. "Draco, you look ill."

"How is Cerise?" I blurted out, then snapped my mouth shut. I didn't want to start the conversation with her, but hell, I really wanted to know how she was doing.

Mother smiled at me softly. "Your Cerise is doing fine, Draco. Has your father allowed you to go see her?"

I nodded, and turned my eyes to the stone floor. I wasn't going to feel like shit about this anymore. No. The cutting had been a one time thing. Cutting only started because I felt bad about Cerise. No, I wasn't going to feel bad for her anymore.

"That's good. You should see her after your bath," Mother stood from the bed and gracefully walked across the room. She knelt down in front of my chair. Her fingers touched my cheek gently. "Dear? She really is okay. I know you've been worried about her, though you don't like to show it."

"Does she know?" I asked. My voice came out hoarse and it sounded like I was going to cry. Shit, I wasn't going to cry over this.

Mother raised my face so I could meet her eyes. They were filled with pain and love, and....why the fuck did I do this to her?

"No, she doesn't know. We left it up to you to decide if you wanted her told or not," she let out a shaky sigh, and I did too. "I love you, Draco, no matter what you choose to tell her."

A tear rolled down my face, and I hastily wiped it away before more shed. I turned my eyes from hers.

"I need a bath, mother," I said softly, blinking back more tears.

Mother just nodded and wiped her eyes before striding out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I sighed and wanted to cry, but I held it back, because Harley entered the bedroom. I could smell the faint aroma of the bath waters' perfume and felt a little relaxed.

Without another word, Harley grabbed my wheelchair and pushed me into the bathroom, keeping the door slightly open in case.

My arms hurt so much when the water and soap had touched the open wounds. Harley had put new bandages on, much to my dislike, since his ugly little hands were touching me. The pain had dulled because of the pressure, but now it was itching like crazy. Oh well, can't have everything your way.

I'd been forced to eat, and thought I'd throw up, but I'm a good little hell raiser, so I kept it down. It wasn't much, either. Oh well, you have to learn how to eat sometime.

Lucify had arranged me to speak with my Cerise. I didn't like to call her 'my wife', but what was I supposed to call her? The woman who my mother forced me to marry because she didn't believe in premarital sex and wedlock births? No, my Cerise sounded better.

At 3:30 that afternoon, I'd been bathed, dressed, and fed. I really wanted to sleep instead of confront Cerise. Really, I would. But it seemed kind of rude, considering the circumstances. Ri-ight.

A heavy man, probably a wannabe Death Eater (as I'd never seen him before today), stood his ground in front of a large oak door. His hands were clasped in front, and his shoulders were squared. The mask he wore looked too small, considering his build was quite large. He might've passed for Crabbe or Goyle's fathers, if only this guy had been smaller.

"Malfoy?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse, like he hardly ever used it.

I should've played the stupidity game with him. You know, 'Malfoy, who the hell is Malfoy?', just to stall. I really didn't want to see Cerise. I decided to humor him. "Yeah, I'm Draco, who're you?"

"Guard," he replied with a grunt. He moved aside and pushed open the door so Harley could push my chair through. Shit, I looked like a gimp. Oh well.

Cerise was sitting on a regular sized bed, like the size of my bed at school. Her brown hair was pulled back, revealing her still pretty face. She was just as beautiful as I remembered her to be, and more pregnant than I had thought.

"Draco," she said in her french accent, and stood up quickly. The door shut behind me, and I was alone. The house elf was outside with the Death Eater, and I was inside, with my wife. "What happened to you?"

"I have been sick, so I haven't eaten. I passed out at school yesterday," I said, the half-lie rolling easily out of my mouth.

I noticed the silver chain around her neck, carrying a gold ring. It was simple; probably very expensive, but at the same time, quite cheap. Wedding bands don't come cheap, but the plain ones, like the ones we'd received, were an accretion. We both had identical rings-gold with a latin protection charm, much like the flags hanging around the castle. Since I wore my ring on a chain as well, and nobody knew of my marriage, I hardly wore it anywhere but to bed. So far, the charm had worked on the ring, protecting me, but who the hell wants to murder someone in their sleep? It takes out all the fun.

"I've been wondering if you'd show up. Your mother told me the other day you'd be staying at school over Christmas Vacation," Cerise licked her lips and dropped her gaze. Her hands were rubbing her large belly, and I had to resist the urge to tell her everything. It'd only upset her.

"Shit happens," I said, balling my fists in my lap. I continued to stare at her, because if I didn't, I'd break down. I had to be strong. If anything, I wanted to be alone in my room, where I could depress myself about how awful my life is.

"How can you look at me?" she asked, and looked back up into my eyes. Her eyes were full of tears. Shit, shit, I wasn't good with comforting people.

"Why wouldn't I look at you?"

"I'm fat."

Shit. What the hell do I say to that? "It isn't that bad, Cerise."

A tear fell from her eye and she turned her back on me. Fuck. So much for being subtle.

I wheeled my chair slowly toward the bed. "Cerise, really, you know what I meant."

"No, I know. It's hard for you to understand what's going on. It's okay."

What was I supposed to say? I love you? No, it wouldn't work for two reasons. One, I don't say shit like that, and two, I didn't love her. She was pretty, but what I felt wasn't love. I'm seventeen for fuck's sake.

"Don't cry. I can't handle it right now," I pleaded softly. I didn't need to see her cry. Change of subject. "What do you want for Christmas?"

Startled by the change of subject, Cerise looked up at me. She looked like a lost kid. "I-I don't want anything."

"Cerise -"

"Don't. Please, Draco," she grabbed my hands and squeezed. "Don't. I've got my baby, and now you'll be around for Christmas. That's it."

She dropped my hands and rubbed her bare arms. It was cold in the room. Father hadn't put a heating charm in here.

I sighed and suddenly felt ashamed of myself, even more than I had earlier. She was freezing in here, pregnant, and probably upset that I wasn't there for her. I, on the other hand, tried to kill myself because of her. She had it way worse than I did.

"Happy Christmas," I offered quietly. I didn't have anything else to say to her.

"You-Know-Who has chosen a name for our baby," Cerise said, sitting down on her bed. She drew her thin blanket around her shoulders and stared at me with sad eyes.

Crap. It was probably some name like Stanko or something. Did I even want to hear it? The look on her face was telling me it was bad.

"What is it?"

"Hunter Solan," she answered, and dropped her gaze, staring at the stone floor. Her feet were bare, and probably frozen. I felt like such an ass.

"That's not so bad," I leaned forward in my chair. I was telling the honest truth. "I like it. Hunter Solan Malfoy. It sounds good."

Cerise nodded a little, but didn't look up at me. "I like it, too, Draco. Really. But....but he chose our child's name. Shouldn't we be able to name him?"

I wheeled myself forward, closer to her bed. It used to be my bed, when I was five, but I had complained because it was too hard. Now Cerise used it, and she was pregnant. I was the biggest ass in the world. Honest.

"Cerise, you knew about this from the beginning. This is his heir, therefore he can name the baby."

"Draco," she said sharply, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes. "This is not his child! This is ours! This is mine!"

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes and she burried her head in her hands and began to sob. I did the only thing I could think of. I placed my hand on her stomach. I could feel it kick under my hand, and suddenly, I wanted to stay. I needed to say something.

"What do you want to name the baby?"

Boy, was I killing this conversation or what?

"Teague," Cerise answered, her voice soft. "Teague Ryan."

Before I could say anymore, the door opened, and Harley hurried in.

"Master Draco, it is time to go, sir," It squeaked. Bastard.

Cerise had pulled her legs onto the bed and was now curled up, the blanket pulled tightly around her stomach. I felt bad. Guilt was something I couldn't cope with. When I'd lied to my father once about hiding a faerie I'd found in the garden when I was six, I begged him to punish me. Now, at seventeen, I cut myself to not feel guilty. Look what that led me to. Upsetting my mother and House-mates, making me feel more guilty about things.

"Bye, Cerise," I touched her bare leg softly, then allowed Harley to push me out of the room.

I had to get out of there.