In My Life

Prologue

Ginny collapsed onto the bench next to her mother. The day’s tumult of emotions had caught up with her—the frustration of being confined to the Room of Requirement, the adrenaline of battle, the shock of her grief for Fred, her anxiety for Harry, and finally the elation that came with the end of the war. Now that the celebration was waning, she wanted nothing more than for her mother to comfort her as if she was still a little girl. Molly seemed to sense Ginny’s neediness, and engulfed her daughter in a warm embrace.

“You were amazing today, Mum,” Ginny said after a while.

Molly shrugged. “No, not really. I just did what I had to do to keep you safe.”

“Still,” Ginny said, “I had no idea you could duel like that.”

“And you would still have no idea if you had done as you were told and stayed in the Room of Requirement,” Molly scolded.

“I was just doing what I thought was right. You taught me to do that.”

“I know,” Molly said with a sigh. “I can’t really blame you—I would have done exactly the same thing at your age. But you were extremely lucky. When I think about how close that curse came…” She began to shake, then to sob. “Like Fred.” Ginny hugged Molly more tightly, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. “You’ll understand one day,” Molly choked out once she had regained some semblance of composure. “You’ll understand once you have children of your own.”

Ginny couldn’t stop herself from turning towards Harry, who was talking to an endless stream of people. She could see the lines around his eyes, and the sag of his shoulders. She knew he must be exhausted, but he still listened politely as each witch or wizard spoke to him. Each one touched him as if he were some talisman that would always keep them safe. Ginny loved him more than ever for it. She wished she could whisk him away from the crowds, but that wasn’t her place. Harry had ended their relationship, and she would just have to live without him.

Seeing where Ginny was looking, Molly squeezed her tighter. “Don’t worry, Ginny. He’ll come around, you’ll see. You’ll have your happy ending.”

“How do you know?” Ginny asked, hoping her mother had hidden abilities in Divination, just as she seemed to have in dueling.

“Because that’s what we fought for,” Molly said simply. “Your father and I fought so all of you could have your happy endings.”

***

Draco pushed his breakfast around his plate. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually been hungry—probably before his father had been sent to Azkaban in his fifth year at Hogwarts. That had been when everything started to go wrong.

Things could have been much, much worse, Draco knew. Harry Potter had surprised the entire wizarding world by testifying at the Malfoys’ trial, claiming that Narcissa had given him material support, in direct defiance of Lord Voldemort, which had allowed him to defeat the dark wizard, and asking the Wizengamot to be merciful. So instead of throwing them into Azkaban and confiscating their assets, the court had grudgingly allowed the Malfoys to remain in their home, with their fortune intact. Draco knew he should be grateful, but life wasn’t easy, especially considering the last few weeks.

Whenever Draco ventured out of the Manor, he heard people whispering about him behind his back. Sometimes they would even curse him to his face. Only the day before, as he made his way through Diagon Alley, a witch had “accidentally” spilled a packet of Bulbadox Powder on his robes, muttering, “Malfoy filth,” as she did so. “Harry Potter might be willing to forgive you, but I’m not.” Luckily, he hadn’t gotten any of it on his skin, avoiding an outbreak of boils, but had Apparated home immediately, instead of continuing on to the office, shaken by the incident.

As unhappy as Draco was, he suspected that his parents had endured much worse. His mother had come home empty-handed from a shopping expedition earlier in the week. She had said that she just didn’t find anything that she wanted to buy, but from the tightness around her lips as she said it, Draco knew she had been lying. His father never left the house anymore, even to go to work, and his brow was continually creased in worry. The tension at Malfoy Manor was driving Draco mad.

An owl swooped in through the window, rousing Draco from his thoughts. His father’s face became completely impassive as he read the letter.

“What is it, Lucius?” Narcissa asked.

“It’s nothing, my dear,” Lucius said, crumpling the parchment in his hand.

“Another broken contract?” Narcissa asked evenly.

Lucius looked at her sharply, clearly just as curious as Draco was himself. “Broken contract?” he asked.

“Don’t lie to me, Lucius. That’s the third one this week.” Draco saw his father’s shoulders sag. “It’s time, I think,” Narcissa continued.

Lucius sighed and nodded. Draco asked, “Time for what?”

“Time for us to go,” his father said.

Draco was stunned. “Where would we go?” he asked.

“Not you, dear,” Narcissa said gently.

“But—” Draco began, but his mother cut him off.

“No buts, darling. You’re young. With time, they’ll forgive and forget. Your father and I, though—we were in too far for that. We’re better off moving away from the scrutiny.” She looked at Lucius and with the hint of a smirk said, “I hear the Bahamas are lovely.”

Draco was even more confused—his parents had already been to the Bahamas, on their honeymoon. Then Lucius smiled at his wife, and Draco understood. He blushed slightly, but his parents didn’t seem to notice.

After a moment, they turned their attention back to Draco. “Nobody trusts me anymore,” Lucius said matter-of-factly, “but once you take over the business, you should be able to hold on to the rest of the contracts.”

“Once I take over the business?” Draco asked, overwhelmed. He hadn’t planned on that for at least a decade. Now he would have to do so without his father on hand to give him advice.

Lucius nodded, and Narcissa added, “You’ll need to marry first, of course. You can’t inherit properly until you do.”

Draco looked at his mother incredulously, then burst into laughter. “Marry? Who do you want me to marry? Pansy Parkinson?”

“Of course not,” Narcissa scoffed. “That tramp would ruin your reputation beyond repair.”

“I’m afraid she’s the only woman I know who wouldn’t try to murder me in my sleep, so marriage is clearly out of the question.”

Narcissa smiled deviously. “Then I suggest you find someone who doesn’t know you.”

Lucius nodded. “I think going to France would be best. I believe Etienne Broussard has a daughter about your age. If you don’t like her, I’m sure he or one of our other contacts there can introduce you to someone appropriate.”

“Someone appropriate,” Draco echoed stupidly. His mind spun. He had only ever contemplated marriage as some vague event that would occur in the distant future, but now it seemed to be imminent, whether he liked it or not. He stopped for a moment to think about the alternatives—Azkaban at worst or life as a social pariah at best.

Narcissa gently touched Draco’s shoulder. “You know I have only wanted the best for you,” she said quietly. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for your sake. This is no different. It will work out, I promise you.”

Draco looked at his mother and swallowed hard. He had always trusted her judgment before. He would trust her this time as well.

***

Ginny was tingling with excitement. The house was perfect—it had a big kitchen, lots of details that made it unique, and plenty of room for the three or four children she hoped for. She was decorating the sitting room in her mind when she felt Harry’s hand on her waist.

“I love it!” she gushed, turning toward her fiancé. “Don’t you?”

Ginny only needed to see the guarded look on Harry’s face to know his answer. He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess,” he said, looking around vaguely. “It’s kind of empty, though.”

“Of course it’s empty!” Ginny said, swatting him lightly on the arm. “There’s no furniture yet!”

Harry just shrugged again. Ginny sighed. He was beginning to drive her mad. She had been deliriously happy when he had proposed, but that happiness was quickly turning to frustration. They had been looking at houses for the past three months, but they had met with no success whatsoever. Whenever Ginny liked a house, Harry would say that it was “too sterile” or “too boring” or “too empty”. She was beginning to think they would never find a house of their own.

“Fine,” Ginny said disappointedly. “I’ll talk to the agent. I suppose we had better be going, anyway. Mum’s expecting us any minute.”

Ginny watched as Harry’s eyes lit up at the prospect of visiting the Burrow. It triggered something in her mind. At dinner that night, she watched Harry carefully. He gravitated towards whichever part of the house was the most crowded, surrounding himself with the people he loved. Twice or three times, she caught him looking wistfully at the house. Finally she understood. After the Dursleys, Harry craved the warmth of family, the welcome of a cluttered and crowded home.

At the first opportunity, she pulled him aside. “I was thinking that maybe we should move in here once we’re married, instead of looking at more houses,” she said.

Harry looked at her wide-eyed. “Move in here? We could do that?” he asked hopefully.

Ginny smiled softly. “We’d have to ask my parents, of course, but I’m sure they wouldn’t object. It is tradition after all.”

“Tradition?” Harry asked. He looked adorably confused.

“In the old wizarding families, one child moves into their parents’ home at marriage, as master or mistress of the house. The parents stay as long as they live, but it keeps families together. None of my brothers seemed to want to move in here, though, so we probably could.”

“You don’t think your parents would mind?”

“I doubt it. They think of you as almost a son anyway, and I bet my mum would love to be so close to her grandbabies!”

Harry blushed at the mention of their future children, then his face burst into the widest grin Ginny had ever seen. “That would be brilliant!” he said. “You’re the greatest, Gin!” He hugged her tightly, then made his way across the crowded sitting room to share his good news with Ron and Hermione.

Ginny sighed. She had hoped that when they married, she would have part of Harry’s life—even if it was just a little part—to herself. Now she would have to share him with her parents and brothers and all of the myriad people who seemed to visit the Burrow every week. But the smile on Harry’s face was worth it.

***

Draco paced the corridors of St. Mungo’s. He had been holding Yvette’s hand through a contraction when she had passed out, and the Healers had shoved him unceremoniously from the room. Nobody would tell him anything—they were too busy with his wife to spare him a moment. However, the expressions on the Healers’ faces made him fear the worst.

What would he do if he lost Yvette? He had been uncommonly lucky to find her in the first place. He hadn’t realized it at first—she had merely been the most likely prospect among the women he had met in France, beautiful and intelligent, with a large dowry. She had only married him to escape her overbearing father. But over the years, his respect for her had turned into deep affection. He thought of how empty the Manor would feel without her easy laughter filling it, and shuddered.

And what of the child? Ever since Scorpius had been born, enchanting them both, Draco and Yvette had longed for another child, but with no results. They had been overjoyed when she had finally discovered that she was once again with child. Would the baby survive whatever complications Yvette was suffering?

Draco turned a corner only to come face to face with Scorpius. The boy was even paler than usual, and uncharacteristically serious; he seemed much older than his twelve years. The two of them stared at each other silently for a few moments, and the image held, only to be shattered when Draco opened his arms in invitation, and his son threw himself into them, crying like a small child.

They found a place to sit and wait for news, Draco forcing himself to stay still for Scorpius’s sake. When Yvette’s Healer appeared, looking solemn, face smeared with blood, Draco’s own blood ran cold, and he looked away from her. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Draco held up a hand to stop her—he couldn’t bear to hear her explanations.

“You have a daughter,” the Healer said quietly after a moment of silence. It was Scorpius, though, that reached out to take the bundle of cloth she offered.

“Lyra,” Draco said, his voice hollow. “Her name is Lyra.” He kept his eyes averted, not sure he wanted to look at her. Until this morning, he had wanted nothing in the world more than the little girl in his son’s arms, but he had never anticipated losing Yvette at the same time.

Scorpius’s cry of surprise interrupted Draco’s thoughts. “Look, Dad!” he said with a sad smile. “She has Mum’s eyes!”

At that, Draco couldn’t help but turn to look. Scorpius was right. And in that moment, as he saw that his daughter was the most beautiful baby ever to grace the planet, Draco was lost.

***

“I’m too old for all this attention,” Ginny said as she sank into her favorite armchair in the sitting room—the one by the window, with a view of the garden. “I swear I must have shaken hands with every witch and wizard in England!”

“Oh, no!” Ellen said, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “I think you must have missed three or four!”

Laughing, Ginny threw a small decorative pillow at her youngest granddaughter. “Fine,” she said. “Maybe there weren’t quite that many people there, but there certainly were a good many.”

“A very good many,” Ellen said, sobering. “I was happy to see so many there.”

Ginny nodded. Harry’s funeral had been even better attended than Albus Dumbledore’s had been. “Somehow, I didn’t expect such a crowd, not after all this time.”

Ellen took Ginny’s hand and squeezed it. “He’s not likely to be forgotten.”

“I guess not,” Ginny said quietly. “In any event, I was glad that so many people came, for his sake, even if it meant that I had to talk to every last one of them.”

“You seem to have handled it reasonably well,” Ellen said. “Better than Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, at any rate. They looked really old and tired.”

Ginny thought about her brother and sister-in-law. They were both nearing their ninetieth birthdays, so it was no surprise that they looked old, but they seemed to have aged thirty years in the past week. It had always bothered Ginny that her husband had been closer to Ron and Hermione than he had been to her, but now it was almost a relief. The two of them seemed lost, as if they didn’t know how to face life without their best friend.

“They are old and tired,” Ginny said with a rueful smile. “And so am I.”

“But you’ll make it.”

“I will,” Ginny said, “but it won’t be easy.” She looked around at the house she had shared with Harry for more than sixty-five years and sighed. After a few moments, she said simply, “I miss him.”

“Of course you do,” Ellen answered. “We all do.”

“It’s funny,” Ginny mused. “He used to drive me crazy. I’d always be tripping over the clothes he left on the floor, or his broom, or some odd thing he brought home from work, but I still look out for them, even though I know they won’t be there anymore.”

“I could find some stuff to leave around the house if it really bothers you so much!” Ellen joked.

“No, no, no!” Ginny said, laughing. “I’m rather happy to be rid of that one thing. It’s strange, though. The house seems so empty without him.”

“About that,” Ellen began. “I thought I might come live here with you, if you’ll have me.”

“What about your flat?” Ginny asked. “You were so excited to have a place of your own when you moved in there.”

Ellen shrugged. “It’s too quiet most of the time. It would be nice to have some company, and not have to do all the chores on my own.”

“The truth comes out!” Ginny said, smiling. “Well, if you are going to live here, you’ll still need to earn your keep, and you can start by making us a pot of tea.”

***

The library was the last straw.

Draco had put up with many things since his grandson Julius’s birth. He had watched Scorpius spoil the boy, while Hilda, Scorpius’s rather cold German wife, simply ignored him. The combination had rendered Julius entirely undisciplinable—every time Draco tried, he would be undermined by one parent or the other. As a result, Julius had always been rather wild. But until he came home with his future wife, Draco had no idea just how much damage Julius could do.

Draco had nearly dismissed Justine at first. With her bleached blonde hair, makeup that looked as if it had been applied with a trowel, and skimpy dress, he assumed at first that she was a prostitute Julius had hired to shock them all—he had pulled stunts like that in the past. But when she began to brazenly appraise the value of the furniture and talk about how she would “rid the Manor of its stuffiness”, he began to worry. When Julius introduced her as his fiancée, Draco had nearly fallen out of his chair. Unfortunately, there had been nothing Draco could do to convince Julius that Justine was a social climber of the first rank. The wedding that made Justine into the first Muggle-born Malfoy ever had taken place only two months later, amid a blaze of garish fuchsia and teal decorations.

Over the first seven years of her marriage to Julius, Justine had left her mark indelibly on the Manor. Draco, Scorpius, and Hilda had endured Justine’s redecoration of the master suite, the two dining rooms, the drawing room, and the ballroom. After all, each new mistress had a right to redecorate the Manor as she saw fit, and there was little any of them could do. They could only watch as the house’s subtle elegance—a richness without ostentation that hinted at old, old money—and centuries of Malfoy history were dismantled one priceless antique chair at a time. Draco’s only consolation was that he rarely visited the rooms she had violated anymore, so he could more or less feign ignorance. However, that all ended one day, when Justine stepped into the library for the first time.

Malfoy Manor’s library, with its rich woodwork and its smell of leather and old parchment, had always been one of Draco’s favorite rooms in the house. The collection there was the work of many generations, ranging from an early edition of Salazar Slytherin’s Treatife on the Purity of Wyzard Bloode to his own contributions, and it gave him a sense of connection to his ancestors. He spent every morning there, reading the Daily Prophet or a book, or just enjoying the quiet space.

“Can I help you?” Draco asked, looking at Justine over the top of his reading glasses as she stepped into the room and began to look around.

“Oh!” Justine responded, startled. “I didn’t see you there!” She paused to look around some more, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in this wing before,” she said. “Is it all as gloomy as this?”

“Gloomy?” Draco asked, wondering how anyone could find the room gloomy, with its rich woods, polished by the house-elves until they glowed.

“It’s awful!” she said, reaching into her robes. With a single swipe of her wand, Justine banished every book in the room.

Draco looked around the room for a few moments, totally dumbfounded. When Justine summoned her collection of porcelain figurines and began arranging them on the now empty shelves, Draco was finally able to react. He could almost feel the anger spread through his body, making his fingertips tingle. He deliberately left his wand in his robes, afraid of what he would do to Justine if he had it in his hands.

“What do you think you are doing?” Draco asked, his voice as cold and hard as steel.

“This room was in desperate need of cheering up,” Justine said absently, adjusting the angle at which a camel-shaped statuette was placed.

“So you thought you would just banish centuries’ worth of scholarship on a whim? To cheer it up?”

Justine nodded. “This is so much nicer.” She held up a centaur figurine. “Isn’t this lovely? Julius gave it to me during my second year at Hogwarts.”

Ignoring her question, Draco asked, “Where did you banish the books? Could you at least tell me that?” He hoped he could retrieve them somehow.

Justine shrugged her shoulders. “Why? What would anyone want with those dull old things?”

“Do you have any idea of how much history there was in that collection?” Justine gave Draco a blank look in response to his question. “Fine then,” he continued, “Do you at least have any idea of how valuable they were?”

“Valuable?” Justine asked, looking startled. Then her face relaxed. “Oh, that’s rich!” she said with a giggle. “You must be having me on! Who would want to buy them? Nobody has libraries anymore!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. There would be no point in trying to convince Justine to return the room to its original state; she never listened to a word he said. Draco stood and took one last look around the room before stepping out the door for the last time. He had put up with a lot from Julius and Justine, but destroying the library? That was going too far.

Draco left the Manor the next morning.

Notting Park was one of the Muggle innovations that had been introduced to the wizarding world in the wake of Voldemort’s demise. Shortly after the war, an enterprising wizard had bought four under priced manor houses which had been confiscated from Death Eater families. Taking advantage of most Muggle-born witches’ and wizards’ discomfort with the old-fashioned tradition of moving in with one’s parents, he had converted them into a chain of exclusive retirement homes, complete with all the luxuries that until then were known only to the wealthiest pure-bloods.

None of Notting Park’s amenities were new to Draco, and the thought of living in a house that had belonged to his erstwhile friend Theo Nott’s family irked him. But however a pale imitation of the old Malfoy Manor it might be, it was still one of the best old manor houses in Britain, and its grounds—nestled against the edge of Sherwood Forest—were lovely. The house was comfortable, the food was good, Draco would be more or less left to his own devices, and, best of all, he would never have to step into Malfoy Manor again. It would do.