Chapter Text
Draco was a coward.
That was a fact that would always be true, whether in the past, present, and maybe the future as well. When faced with Hermione’s rage, he cowered in fear. When hit by a Hippogriff, he wailed like a child.
Even now, he stood shaking in fear, barely able to hold himself. But, he did it–he–
“No?” Fenrir mused and tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought. “I didn’t realize I asked a question.”
Draco shook his head. His jaw clenched, and his teeth chattered, the sound pounding in his skull. “I-I said no. I don’t want to.”
Fenrir laughed. It was an ugly sound. “You’ve a lot of nerve, boy. I don’t like to repeat myself. The Dark Lord demands you take the Mark. It is an honor.”
Draco’s heart thrummed with fear. Would he die now? Maybe this would be an honorable end to him, maybe he could be brave like Potter. His sister would grow up and become proud of him.
“No.” He repeated, this time with more certainty.
Fenrir stared at him for a moment before he stalked forward and grabbed him by his arm, tightly. Draco let out a groan of pain, grimacing as the foul smell of Fenrir’s breath hit him.
“Let go!” He spat out. “I’ll tell my Father, he’ll make you pay!”
Fenrir threw him up and against the wall. They were in Draco’s sister's room, Callidora, but there were silencing charms around her bed. The little girl was still asleep, nestled in a bundle of blankets and her favorite doll that had a beautiful black dress.
“Your Father?” Fenrir laughed again and pressed his body against Draco. “He’s no help to you now. The Dark Lord will let me do as I please to you, since you are useless, you worthless swine.”
“I am not useless.”
“You refuse to take the Mark because you’re a coward,” Fenrir spat, eyes flashing. “Just like your father. Pathetic, spineless—”
“I am not a coward!” Draco found it in him to glare at Fenrir. “Saying no proves that I will not become a minion that serves The Dark Lord like you.”
Fenrir’s face twisted into an ugly, angry expression. He bared his teeth, revealing his fangs. “You dare?” He growled, a nasty edge to his voice. “You dare speak to me like that, boy?”
Draco’s chest heaved, but he didn’t look away. “You’re not scary,” he said, though his voice cracked and his heart hammered relentlessly against his chest. “You’re just a monster who hides behind someone stronger.”
That made Fenrir snap.
“ Crucio.” The man hissed.
Pain tore through Draco, white-hot and blinding, and he doubled over, screaming. It wasn’t sharp like a knife or hot like fire — it was everything at once, ripping, shredding, twisting until there was nothing left of him but agony. His body slammed into Callidora’s bed, shaking it and jostling the girl awake.
He tried to reach for her, tried to crawl toward her, anything to get to her, but his arms wouldn't listen. They twitched violently against the mattress, useless and heavy from pain.
The curse kept going, only increasing in intensity. He didn’t know how long it lasted. Seconds, minutes, hours — it all bled together in a haze. There was no time anymore — just the endless, unbearable hurt.
Draco screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding. When the spell stopped, he could make out Callidora’s cries.
She's scared, some distant part of him thought through the fog. She needs you. She's crying for you.
“Draco!” She sobbed, raising her hands and blindly reaching for him.
“I’m okay,” Draco rasped, unable to raise his voice from exhaustion. He tried to offer a smile but couldn’t even lift his head. “Don’t cry, Dora.”
Fenrir rolled his eyes and hauled Draco up. “I have the power now, not you.” He turned to face Callidora, who shrunk back in fear, her gray eyes wide and filled with tears. “Shall I turn this brat of a girl into a werewolf as the price of your misdeeds?”
Callidora whimpered.
It was as if a bucket of cold water was spilled over Draco’s head. Panic seized him. Without thinking, he twisted, gnawing desperately at Fenrir’s wrist like a trapped animal. It was as if he gained all of his energy back.
“No, please,” He begged, mind racing. “Anything but Dora, please, oh, I’ll do anything, please!”
The second the words left him, he froze. Fenrir’s grin stretched and his eyes gleamed with something akin to victory, and Draco realized that he had walked straight into a trap. The man had identified his weakness.
He’d shown him where it hurt.
“Anything?” Fenrir echoed, mocking.
“Anything,” Draco’s head bobbed up and down in frantic agreement. Tears streamed down his cheek and his legs shook so violently he nearly collapsed. “Anything but my sister.”
Behind him, Callidora cried, “I’m scared.”
Fenrir ignored her. His calloused hand crept up his thigh, and Draco’s eyes widened in fear. His whole body locked up in terror, breath catching painfully in his throat. Dread plummeted his stomach.
“P-please,” He begged, voice trembling. “Not this.”
Fenrir tilted his head, eyes hardening with lust as he gazed into Draco’s face. “You said anything, pretty boy.”
“Wait—wait,” Draco rasped. “I can give you things. Anything. Money. Jewels. My family’s vault has artifacts older than Hogwarts.”
Fenrir didn’t move.
Draco’s mouth went dry, panic crawling up his throat. “You—you don’t need to do this,” he pushed on, grasping at anything. “You want power, right? You want respect? I can give you both. You don’t have to—this isn’t—”
Fenrir finally let out a bark of laughter. “You think this is about money?” he sneered. “You’re a fool. There’s plenty of that rotting under the Manor that I could be gifted by the Dark Lord.” He leaned in closer, lips almost at Draco’s ear. “This is about you . About ruining what you were bred to be. A precious, pure little Malfoy prince, I get to be the one who taints his purity.”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out — the room, the smell, the touch. He turned his face away, shame burning hotter than the torture he had experienced.
“My sister–”
"Can turn around," Fenrir cut him off, voice sickeningly sweet, "before I rip your clothes off right in front of her."
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed his Father or Mother to help him, to save them. Where were they?
Still, looking at the paleness of Callidora’s face, how she clutched her doll with trembling hands moved him. Callidora, who hadn't even seen her fourth birthday yet, didn't deserve this. She deserved everything good — and Draco would give anything to keep her from this.
"Okay," he whispered, voice wrecked. "Okay, okay." He fought to steady himself, but his hands kept trembling uncontrollably. “Callidora, baby, I need you to turn around for me, okay? Don’t look.”
“B-but,” Callidora’s lower lip trembled. “Hurt.”
"I’m fine," Draco lied through his teeth, forcing a shaky smile in hopes of soothing her. "I'm fine. You’re so brave, Dora. Just turn around and try to sleep, okay? Don't look back. No matter what you hear, no matter what, don’t turn around. Be a good girl for me.
Callidora reluctantly nodded. She lay back on her bed and turned around, shrouding herself with the blanket.
Fenrir didn’t wait.
Rough hands grabbed Draco and shoved him back against the wall, the impact rattling his bones. He tried not to make a sound but a strangled whimper escaped his throat anyway.
"Stay quiet," Fenrir hissed. "Wouldn’t want to upset your little sister more, would we?"
Then the tearing started — fabric, dignity, safety — ripped away in brutal handfuls. Fenrir grabbed at his flesh and spread his legs wide. Draco bit down hard on his own tongue, the coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth, anything to stop himself from screaming.
He squeezed his eyes shut, heart slamming so hard it made him dizzy. His whole body trembled violently, nausea rising like a wave he couldn’t hold back. Draco never felt fear like this, ever, even when he was faced with Potter’s friends. He knew that they may hurt him, but they would never go far, not even remotely close to this .
"Look at me," Fenrir growled, heavy with arousal. That thought made Draco nauseous.
Draco shook his head wildly, trying to keep his eyes shut, trying to pretend this wasn't happening, trying to protect the last shred of dignity he had.
A sharp slap cracked across his cheek, snapping his head to the side.
"I said, look. ”
Fenrir grabbed his chin roughly, moving Draco’s head up and forcing him to open his eyes. His fingers dug into Draco’s jaw hard enough to leave bruises. Draco tried to pull away, but Fenrir only laughed and squeezed harder until Draco gasped and stilled.
The room swam sickeningly in front of him, his vision blurry from tears and pain and terror. Fenrir held him in place, humiliating him, making sure he saw everything, felt everything.
Pain lanced up through him, sharp and searing. Draco whimpered brokenly, the sound muffled against the gag of his own nausea. It hurt — it hurt so badly — and the shame was worse, flaying him alive from the inside out.
"Please," Draco cried openly now. "Stop, please, I can't—please—"
Fenrir only chuckled low in his throat, the sound a vile thing. His hands tightened cruelly, making Draco jolt and sob harder, his broken pleas spilling out uselessly into the cold air.
"Can't?" Fenrir mocked, dragging a calloused finger down Draco's tear-streaked face. "You're doing just fine, little prince."
"Help me," Draco choked out between broken sobs, aware of how pathetic he sounded. "Please—Potter—help me—"
Fenrir grabbed Draco by the hair and yanked his head back. "Potter?" he jeered, smirking down at him. "You think your little Gryffindor hero would waste his time on you?"
Draco whimpered, chest heaving as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.
"You're nothing but a disgrace," Fenrir continued, voice growing erratic. "No one will want you after this. Potter won’t even spare you a glance. Disgusting.”
Somewhere behind him, he could hear Callidora crying. Draco prayed that the little girl didn’t look back and see what was happening. He never wanted her to live with those images replaying in her mind, ever. Not his little star, she was far too good. His good, good girl.
Draco didn’t know how long it lasted. Fenrir’s breath was hot against his ear, his skin, and Draco could do nothing but endure, tears streaking down his face.
No one was coming. He was alone.
Fenrir leaned closer, his hot, rancid breath brushing Draco’s ear.
"You should be grateful I'm the only one who still wants you at all." he hissed.
Draco's whole body shuddered violently, shame burning through every nerve. He wanted to claw out of his own skin, to tear himself into pieces just to make it end.
He couldn't do this.
When it was finally over, Fenrir shoved him down like he was garbage. Draco hit the ground hard, his body folding in on itself. Blood streamed down his leg, sticky against his skin. Every inch of him throbbed, raw and wrong.
"You're nothing now," Fenrir sneered, spitting at him. "Tell your father if you want. It won't matter."
The door slammed behind him, and suddenly it was quiet.
He couldn’t cry—not again. He’d done enough of that. He’d screamed until his throat bled, surely Callidora would have nightmares of this event. He couldn’t let her hear that sound from him anymore. He couldn’t let her see him shattered.
With shaking hands, he pulled what was left of his robes over his legs, desperate to shield himself. He didn’t dare look down. Draco dragged himself up, every movement agony. His hands shook so badly he could barely crawl. Blood smeared the floor where he moved, but he didn’t care. He pulled himself toward her bed, leaving a broken trail behind him.
When he reached her, he managed to grab the edge of her blankets.
"Shh... Dora," he rasped, barely able to get the words out. "’M here. I'm here."
Callidora peeked over the covers, her tear-streaked face crumpling at the sight of him. She scrambled forward, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her alive.
"Draco," she sobbed. "Draco, hurt?"
He wanted to lie to her, to say no — but the words wouldn't come. So he just held her as tightly as he could with what little strength he had left. Draco rocked her gently back and forth, even though every movement made fresh pain bloom along his skin.
"It's okay," he whispered, even though nothing was okay. "You're safe. I’ll keep you safe, always. I promise."
He didn't know if it was a promise he could keep, but he would die trying.
“Hurt,” she repeated, voice small and broken as her sobs hiccuped through the silence. Her tiny fingers reached for his hair, trembling slightly as they touched the pale strands. She stroked them gently, carefully, the same way Draco used to for her when she woke up crying in the dead of night.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Draco okay?”
Draco just nodded. A slow, shaky nod that didn’t fool either of them.
Callidora sniffled, then scooted closer and curled up beside him, resting her head against his arm.
“I will stay,” she mumbled into the fabric of his torn robes. “So bad man won’t come.”
Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek until it hurt. This wasn’t fair.
—-
Draco and Callidora were both startled awake by someone desperately shaking them. Callidora immediately gasped, panicked, and hung tightly to Draco.
Draco wrapped his arms around her and opened his eyes and was met with grey ones similar to his own.
Narcissa.
Immediately, it was as if a dam broke. Draco began sobbing uncontrollably, unable to stifle the ugly sounds escaping him.
“Mother,” He gasped for a breath. “I-Fenrir he–”
“My dragon,” Narcissa interrupted, her hands cupping his face. They were cold but Draco seeked the warmth in his mother’s love. “I’m so sorry, I wish I could stay with you, but you have to leave.”
Callidora perked. “Leave?”
“Mother, no,” Draco shook his head. “I can’t leave. I need you, please.”
Narcissa lowered her eyes. “…He touched you.”
Draco didn’t answer. His eyes brimmed with shame, and he looked away.
Narcissa reached for him again, this time with trembling hands. Her voice cracked. “My dragon. My beautiful boy…”
“I couldn’t stop him,” Draco whispered, hollow and trembling. “He said he’d hurt Dora. He defiled me.”
Narcissa closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Draco. We don’t have time for guilt. The wards won’t hold much longer.”
Draco recoiled at her words. He couldn't ignore the pang that stabbed at his heart. That was it, he was to forget everything that happened?
“Mother,” Draco repeated, his voice so weak. “I need you right now. I have been hurt and defiled, yet you are sending me away? Am I supposed to pretend that none of this happened?” He didn’t try to hide the break in his voice, nor the trembling of his lip. He wasn’t a child anymore, but he needed her in a way only a child could need a mother.
Narcissa looked at him, her gray eyes filled with sadness. Regret seemed to be etched all over face as a single tear streamed down.
“I’m sorry,” She whispered, barely audible. “That I cannot be of comfort to you.” Her voice shook, and that affected him more than anything. Narcissa Malfoy was never shaken. “I want to hold you and stay with you. I want to burn the world to the ground for allowing you to be hurt,” she breathed, her hands tightening, “but if I don’t send you away now, they will take you again. And this time, you won’t survive it. I can’t protect you.”
Draco’s shoulders hunched forward. He pressed his face into her shoulder like he used to when he scraped his knee or woke from a nightmare. Except this time, he didn’t cry. His tears were gone. He just breathed—shallow, broken gasps—into her robes, drawing in the scent of her perfume as if to memorize it.
Callidora stirred again beside them, rubbing her bleary eyes. “Mother?” she asked softly.
Narcissa blinked down at her, and something in her cracked completely. She knelt and drew the little girl into a tight hug, burying her nose in her pale curls. “My precious girl,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to leave Draco.” Callidora mumbled, her small voice thick with sleep and fear.
“You won’t,” Draco promised hoarsely, pulling her back into his arms. “I’m not leaving without her.”
Narcissa nodded, her fingers trembling as she pulled something from her sleeve — a sealed portkey, shaped like an old locket. “You’ll go together. Anywhere away from here. Sirius Black would be of assistance.”
“Where?” Draco asked, his voice still fragile. Everything that was happening felt like a blur. Draco looked down at Callidora, who had curled against his side again, blinking up at him with sleepy, trusting eyes. His chest ached. He couldn’t take care of a 3 year old in the middle of a war, how would he keep her safe?
“I don’t know,” She sighed tiredly. “But he’s not cruel enough to reject you, should he find you.”
“I’m scared,” he admitted softly.
Narcissa reached for him again, pressing her forehead to his. “So am I,” she whispered. “But fear means you still have something left to protect. So protect Callidora, as I trust you to keep her safe. Live, Draco. If not for yourself, then for her.”
“Mother, coming?” Callidora asked.
Narcissa bit her lips and shook her head. Immediately, tears began streaming down Draco’s face again. It seemed that he was unable to control anything or do anything.
“Mother, please come with us,” He begged, desperate. His stomach hurt and he felt all too nauseous. “If you stay, they’ll kill you.”
Narcissa shook her head again. Her expression hardened, and it was as if she wasn’t crying a few moments ago. “No,” She said firmly. “I must stay back and provide a plausible story of some sort. That will give you time, the Dark Lord will spare me if he has no proof.”
Draco looked his mother in the eye. They both knew she was lying
He swallowed a lump in his throat, his fingers tightening around the locket. “Will I ever see you again?”
She paused, then kissed his forehead. “Yes, my dragon.”
“Promise?” Callidora asked, her eyes wide with hope.
At that, Narcissa faltered. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Then, her gaze drifted down to her daughter’s small hands clutching her brother, and her own fingers curled into her palm.
Draco looked between them, chest aching. “You didn’t answer her,” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Mother… promise her.”
“I will try,” she said softly. “That’s the most I can give.”
“You won’t promise,” Draco murmured, his voice barely audible. It was difficult to even raise his voice as he didn't even have the energy. “You never break a promise… is that why you won’t give one now? Because you’re afraid you can’t keep it?”
The room fell still.
Narcissa stood again, composed now, gray eyes shining but unflinching. “You have to go,” she said, ignoring his question. “There is no time left, Draco. If you stay, he will find you. If he finds her—”
“I know,” Draco rasped, cutting her off. He couldn't meet her eyes now. He just stared at the locket she had pressed into his palm earlier, the warmth of her last spell still lingering in the metal.
She moved to the door, and just before it opened, she stopped.
“I wish I could hold you both longer,” she said gently, not turning around. “But I’ll buy you every second I can. Run, and do not look back.”
“Mother—”
“Go!” Her voice cracked, just once. Then she composed herself again and pulled the door open.
Draco gathered Callidora into his arms. She was still crying silently, burying her face into his shoulder. Her doll was clutched tightly in her hand. He held her tight and backed toward the door, eyes locked on Narcissa’s figure one last time.
“I love you.” he whispered.
Narcissa didn’t turn around, but she nodded. Once. Slowly. “I’m sorry.”
That was all she could give.
The portkey shimmered between his hands. And it was goodbye.
=-=-=-=-=-=
The first night away from the manor was a disaster.
Draco had never really felt cold before. Not truly. He was used to enchantments, warming charms, and fine linens. Even in Hogwarts where the Slytherin dorms were freezing because of its proximity to the lake, there was still some sort of kindling warmth.. Now, despite the warming charms, he was still crouched beside a stone wall, his cloak wrapped around both himself and Callidora as the wind bit through them like knives. It was as if his magic reacted to his stress and remained dormant.
Callidora, for her part, tried not to cry. Her nose was red, her cheeks chapped, and she pressed her face into Draco’s chest. “My toes hurt,” she whined.
“I know.” Draco tightened his grip on her. His stomach growled—loudly enough that Callidora noticed and frowned up at him.
“You didn’t eat more at lunch.”
“There wasn’t any more.” Draco said quietly.
“Oh,” she replied, still frowning. “I can pretend to eat next time, if you want?”
His chest clenched, but he tried to play the statement off. Draco playfully flicked his sister’s forehead. “Now, where’d you learn to pretend and lie, hm?”
Callidora rubbed her forehead and pouted. “Aunt Bella.”
Draco did his best to hide the shock that went through him. ‘Mm,” he nodded, trying to poke for more information. “When have you seen her, little star?”
“Dinner and my room,” she giggled, but then her expression turned solemn. “Scary man too. Both are scary.”
“Scary man?” Draco repeated.
Callidora took his hands and held them tightly. “Hurt you.”
Draco felt ice crawl down his spine. Fenrir. His jaw clenched and he tucked her closer to his chest and cradled her head in one hand.
“Did he ever touch you?” The words tasted like ash, but he forced them out.
Callidora blinked up at him, confused. “No,” she said, then added, “He hurt you. You cried after.”
Draco let out a slow shuddering breath. Relief bloomed fast and sharp—so much so that he had to close his eyes for a moment. She hadn’t been hurt.
“Good,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I won’t let him near you Dora. Ever.”
She leaned her forehead to his. “I'll kick him,” she promised, puffing her cheeks. “If he comes back, I will stop him.”
A strangled laugh escaped him. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m a hero,” she corrected, then tapped his cheek. “Like Potter.”
That made him pause. Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest, maybe relief, maybe pride. Callidora was turning out the way he always wished he had. Someone good. Potter had the right idea about many things–no–everything, and Draco would be a liar if he didn’t admit he was jealous. Merlin, he would rather his sister had Weasley’s personality than his own, as long as she was a better person.
“Just like Potter,” Draco nodded in spite of himself and ruffled her hair. “Alright then, little hero. Let’s find a safe spot to sleep.”
“Warm?” she asked, tugging his sleeve. “And snacks to eat?”
“If I have to rob a bloody bakery,” he muttered under his breath, “we’re getting you a snack.”
“And bedtime story?”
“Of course, little star.”
Callidora grinned despite herself. “About Potter?”
Draco groaned theatrically. “Merlin, no. You’ll get enough Potter in the papers when you’re older.”
Callidora giggled, hugging his leg as they walked. “But he’s a hero.”
“He’s also annoying,” Draco muttered, hoisting her up when her steps began to slow. Her arms looped tightly around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder.
“’M sleepy,” she mumbled.
“I know.” He glanced up at the sky. Clouds were gathering—rain, maybe. Typical of his luck. “We’ll find someplace to rest soon. Then a story. Maybe one with dragons.”
She hummed. “Dragons and Potter?”
Draco snorted. “Sure. Potter the Dragon-Slayer. That’ll do since he had his own encounter with a dragon in his fourth year.”
Her eyes widened even more. “Did he win?”
“He lived, didn’t he?” Draco replied, softening despite himself. “That dragon was huge too. Big as a house. Breathed fire, all teeth and wings. And he didn’t even cry.”
Callidora leaned into him a little more, absorbing the story word for word. “That’s scary.”
“Yeah,” Draco admitted, brushing a hand over her messy hair. “But Potter was brave, typical Gryffindor. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re not brave, though. You just do the right thing even when you're scared. That’s what makes someone brave.”
She considered this with the kind of serious silence only a three-year-old could manage. “Then I’m brave too,” she whispered. “’Cause I was scared, but I stayed with you.”
Draco’s throat tightened. He pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re the bravest little star I know.”
Callidora giggled. “My big brave star.” She said and patted his cheek.
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the words. He let out a breath of a laugh, something small and disbelieving. “Me?” he said, voice low. “I’m not that brave, Dora.”
Callidora shook her head seriously as if she were stating facts. “You ran away from the bad man even when you were scared. You keep me warm and happy. My heart feels full with you.”
Callidora’s proclamation wasn’t dramatic or loud. It was the kind of truth only a child could deliver with such clarity. The words were carried with such innocence that Draco had to look away in hopes to avoid crying.
He hoped that he could be a better person for her.
Draco pulled her close again, kissing the top of her head and letting his cheek rest there. “You make my heart feel full too.” he whispered, voice barely audible.
Callidora hummed, snuggling in tighter. “Good.”
____
Draco spent the majority of his time sleeping in the slums of the Wizarding world before he somehow made his way to Diagon Alley. Time bled together—he couldn’t say if it had been days or weeks, only that the ache in his bones never left and that the weight of his guilt grew heavier with each sunrise. One thing he did not plan for was running out of the little amount of money he packed so early.
They eventually found refuge behind the ruins of an abandoned apothecary near the edge of Diagon Alley. It wasn’t much, nothing compared to the luxury he was used to, just broken crates, discarded newspapers, and a few faded blankets—but it kept them hidden.
Callidora had fallen ill in the week they spent sleeping behind the abandoned building. At first, Draco had no idea what was wrong. His little sister was slowly losing weight and experiencing difficulty breathing. He chalked it up to the environment being dirty or too humid, as she was sensitive and unused to it, but things changed when she began to cough up blood.
A middle-aged witch who passed by during the early hours stopped long enough to look. She didn’t ask questions—just peered down at the sickly child wrapped in blankets and then gave Draco a grim, pitying look.
“Pneumonia,” she said simply. “She won’t last long without a proper healer. And those cost more than what’s left in your coin purse.”
The woman pressed a half-loaf of bread into his hand before shuffling off.
Draco blinked down at the bread. It was dry and stale, hardly enough to sustain the both of them. But it was more than they’d had in days. His stomach growled viciously, but he ignored it.
Callidora was curled up in the folds of a bundle of blankets, trembling and flushed with fever. Her once-sparkling gray eyes were glassy now and red rimmed. Draco knelt beside her, breaking the loaf in half and handing both pieces to her
“No,” Callidora whimpered, shaking her head. “You and I eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” Draco lied, even as his hands trembled. He brought the bread to her lips. “You need strength, Dora. Be good. Eat.”
She frowned, eyes fluttering closed again. “Not fair. . .”
“I know,” he whispered, tucking the cloak more tightly around her and brushing the damp curls from her forehead. “But life isn’t always fair. Don’t worry, your big brother will protect you from all of that.”
Callidora chewed slowly, barely finishing a few bites before she fell asleep again, curled against his chest. Draco held her close, watching the way her breath hitched and rattled in her lungs. Each shallow inhale filled him with dread. Would that be her last breath? How could she peacefully sleep when she was constantly wheezing?
That night, Draco didn’t sleep. He sat against the cold wall with his sister bundled in his arms, watching as the stars above Diagon Alley blinked quietly, uncaring.
He had to do something.
And, he did. The next night, he found himself in the Leaky Cauldron. He went at night, not the daytime to avoid seeing familiar faces. It was better safe than sorry.
There were…questionable people there. Drunk wizards and witches were dancing about, uncaring, and he was met with a few hungry gazes. Draco swallowed his pride. He had to do what was needed.
He found a group of Wizards that looked out together and approached them with Callidora bundled in his arms. Her fever had burned through the night, and now she barely even whimpered. Draco’s heart clenched.
They were laughing loudly and exchanging beers amongst themselves. The laughter dimmed slightly when the group noticed him. One of the Wizards tipped his head in greeting. “Fancy seeing you approach us.”
Draco pursed his lips, humiliation burning in his bones. “I need help,” he said firmly. “My sister is sick—she has pneumonia. I need money. Anything you can spare.”
A man waved his hand. “We don’t do charity, boy. Scram.”
Draco glared at him. “She’s sick!” he pointed at his sister. “You’ll let a child die because you can’t spare a coin?”
The men looked at one another. Some smirked. One raised a brow.
“And what’s in it for us?” another asked, lazily swirling the amber liquid in his flask.
Draco stiffened. “I have. . .the Malfoy signet ring.” He shifted Callidora slightly to pull it from his pocket. The silver gleamed faintly.
A beat of silence.
One of the wizards whistled. “That’s a bloody relic. Are you a thief?”
Draco stepped forward, hand outstretched, almost pleading. “Take it. Just—please—enough for a Healer, or at least potion supplies. I can brew one myself.”
The man who had whistled snorted, eyes glinting. “Nice try. That ring’s worth enough to buy a shop front on Knockturn Alley. You think I can just waltz into Gringotts and sell it? The goblins would cut my hand off before I made it to the counter.”
Another sneered. “You’re a fugitive, pretty boy. That ring’s got a trace on it. We help you, we’re as good as dead.”
Draco’s mouth went dry. “Please. She’s just a child. No one will know.”
“She’s a liability,” the first wizard said flatly. “You both are.”
“Do not call my sister a liability.” Draco hissed, uncaring of the consequences.
Callidora stirred weakly, letting out a small, wet cough, reminding him of their current situation. Draco instinctively pulled her closer, wrapping the cloak tighter around her tiny frame.
He swallowed hard and decided to try again. “What about labor?” he asked. “I’ll do anything. I could scrub your floors, clean your cauldrons, run errands—I could curse someone if I have to—just help her.”
How humiliating. Draco Malfoy reduced to a begging mess. If Potter heard, he would have a field day with that information.
One of the older wizards leaned in, eyes sharp. “You’re really that desperate, aren’t you?”
Draco didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
The man sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Sorry, kid,” He repeated. “We don't do charity.”
A bitter laugh escaped Draco before he could stop it. That was it then. His pride had already been torn to shreds, and now all that remained was desperation. Either he’d have to beg like a dog or steal ingredients from one of the shops. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco turned on his heel and took slow, heavy steps toward the pub’s exit, each movement dragging like lead.
“Wait,” one of the wizards called out, halting Draco in his tracks.
Draco turned slowly, his arms curled tightly around Callidora’s body.
The wizard tilted his head, eyes roaming over Draco with idle curiosity. “You have pretty hair.”
A tense silence fell between them. Draco’s heart dropped, knowing where the conversation was heading.
“My wife,” The Wizard continued, unaware of how painfully humiliating his words were. “Has been suffering from hair loss. No potion seems to work. But your hair… it’d make a fine wig for her. It’s not too long and is healthy enough. I’ve rarely seen a shade like that. Not blond. White, like moonlight.”
Silence.
“I’ll give you fifty galleons,” the man added, taking a swig from his flask. “Right now. You cut it and sell it to me. Any wizard would pay handsomely for this beauty.”
Draco’s stomach twisted. “I’m not—” he started, voice cracking.
“You’re a beggar with a dying sister.” the man interrupted. “Pride doesn’t feed the sick.”
Draco froze, arms tightening around Callidora as the man’s offer hung in the air like a noose. Fifty galleons was enough for a healer. For potions. Just to cut his hair, and maybe his sister would live to see another week. He blinked back the sting in his eyes. It was supposed to be easy, just a part of his body, not his soul. Not her life.
He swallowed, gaze flicking to Callidra’s limp form. Her breathing was shallow, raspy — she barely stirred now even when he moved. He clenched his jaw. Pride was worthless if she died.
Still, in their world, appearances weren’t just vanity—they were identity. They were a show of legacy. His hair was carefully maintained from the time he was a child. He remembered the way his mother used to run her fingers through it when she tucked him into bed. He remembered the way his father insisted he be properly groomed before every event, how he would scold, “You are a Malfoy. You must look like one.”
“My hair,” he whispered, more to himself than to the wizard. “Is that really all I have left to give?”
The wizard leaned forward and ran his hand through Draco’s locks. He flinched at the action and willed himself to stay still. “Better that than burying your little sister, eh?”
He could feel the shame seeping into his skin. His hair… Merlin, he knew it was stupid to care. Selfish . His sister was dying in his arms, but something in his chest ached. This was the last thing he had. The last thing that proved he wasn’t some filthy stray on the streets. He still looked like a Malfoy.
“Okay,” He breathed, ignoring how weak he sounded.
The man grinned wickedly. They both seemed to forget that the pub was filled with people, as he stood and angled himself behind Draco, wand out.
“Merlin’s beard,” the man murmured, combing through the pale strands with a kind of sick admiration. “Never seen hair like this in my life. Like silk spun from snow.”
Draco ignored the nausea that was building inside him. The wizard being so close, his body heat, the way his hot breath ghosted across the nape of Draco’s neck reminded him too much of Fenrir. The sticky calloused fingers that reached out to hold him down–
Draco bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, bleeding. The taste of blood was grounding, it was better than panic, better than letting them see him flinch.
“You’re lucky I won’t take the whole lot,” the wizard chuckled darkly, sliding the strands of hair between his fingers before stepping back. “I’m a generous man. I’ll just take enough to make a nice little piece for my wife. Right at the crown, where it’s thickest.”
And just as the tip of the wand glowed—
“Don’t you dare touch him.”
The wizard stumbled back, startled, nearly dropping his wand.
Draco’s head jerked up. “Professor Lupin?” he rasped, voice hoarse with disbelief.
“Back away,” Lupin commanded, brown eyes scanning Draco from head to toe. He seemed to notice Callidora bundled in Draco’s arms because his eyes narrowed. “You know very well it’s illegal to barter with a minor.” he added coolly to the wizard, who was still fumbling with his wand.
“Have at it, Moony,” Someone drawled behind Lupin. “Start your lecture. Just know that if it were me, my fist would be doing the talking.”
Draco’s heart sank before it even clicked. He recognized the voice–Sirius Black.
The man seemed to materialize from thin air, he moved towards them and placed a hand on his hips. “Malfoy,” Sirius acknowledged, stopping just a few feet away and folding his arms. He leveled Draco with an unimpressed look. “Charming as ever. Come along now. You’re coming with us.”
Draco immediately shook his head and ignored the shaking of his feet. “No,” he said. “I have more important things to do.”
“Oh, really?” Sirius asked mockingly and tilted his head. “And what’s your grand plan, exactly? Running back to your Father to polish the Dark Lord’s boots like a good little pureblood pet?"”
Draco’s face flushed, but he refused to look away. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” he bit out.
Lupin exhaled slowly. “Malfoy, now is not the time to argue with us. I will ask you to calmly come with us.”
“He’s being polite,” Sirius interjected. “That’s Moony-speak for ‘you don’t have a choice.’ Harry told us that you were acting suspicious back in Hogwarts and we can’t spare anything at this point in the war. After the stunt your father pulled in the Ministry, anything is possible. For all we know, this could be a plot to lure unsuspecting wizards in.”
Draco felt horrified by the news ; as if someone just suggested something mundane. He sprang forward and pointed an accusing finger at Sirius Black, raging with anger. How dare they make decisions for him?!
“How dare you even assume that–” Draco yelled and then clenched his jaw to control his voice level. The pub was crowded and it wouldn’t do any good to attract listeners. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not plotting, and I’m not scheming! Tell Potter to mind his words! I’m just trying to keep my sister alive!”
He was breathless by the end of it, chest heaving, tears pricking the corners of his eyes again despite himself. He suffered so much in a span of a few weeks, only to be cornered by two men who knew nothing.
Callidora stirred faintly in his grip and grabbed his shirt. “Draco,” She whimpered. “C-est trop. Too loud.”
Draco lowered his head immediately and pressed a kiss to her head as an apology.
Sirius seemed to stiffen after hearing the simple phrase in French and glanced at Lupin, who remained unmoving. Draco noticed the exchange—and the way Sirius’s eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursed like he was remembering something unpleasant. He was a Black afterall, so he must’ve understood.
French, that had been one of the only compromises Draco had made with Callidora since they went into hiding—speaking in a tongue fewer people would recognize. It was a small way to give her a sense of safety, even though it was palpable.
“She’s just cold,” Draco muttered, voice cracking. “She gets scared when people shout. That’s all.”
Lupin sighed tiredly again and pinched his nose as if he were dealing with a pair of unruly toddlers. “Malfoy,” he began, voice even. “Please don’t make this harder for the both of us. Just come with us and we’ll walk calmly. You don’t want to frighten your sister.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?” he hissed.
“No,” Lupin said simply. “It’s the truth. She’s ill, she’s scared, and you can’t do anything to help her.”
Draco wanted to spit something cruel back, but Callidora stirred again, her head lolling weakly against his shoulder. Her skin was burning. She was far too quiet now.
Sirius crossed his arms and scoffed. “Honestly, if I were threatening you, you’d know it. Right now, Moony is being generous. The kid’s sick and you’re clearly out of options. We’ve told you already, one wrong step and we’ll lock you up, but this is still a win-win situation. The little Malfoy spawn gets treatment, and we get to interrogate you for information.”
“Callidora.” Draco snapped.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Her name is Callidora.” he repeated firmly, arms tightening around her as if the very sound of Sirius calling her anything else was an insult.
At that, the girl stirred again, eyelids fluttering open. Her fever-glazed eyes found Sirius, and something in them shifted—recognition, or at least the faint glimmer of curiosity through the haze. She looked at Draco, then back at Sirius with an odd sort of clarity.
“Black,” she said softly, the name falling off her tongue like a memory, startling Draco. “M’name is Dora.”
Sirius blinked, visibly thrown. “That so?” he muttered, trying to play it off. His mouth twitched like he was suppressing something—a smile, or maybe confusion.
“You know her?” Lupin asked warily
“I’ve never seen that brat in my life.” Sirius replied, staring at Callidora as if he were observing her and memorizing every detail to her.
“Mother,” Callidora supplied helpfully. “Mother told me about family.” She yawned at the end of the statement and turned to Draco, seeking warmth as she buried her face in his shoulder.
“That is incredibly suspicious,” Sirius eyed the girl for a moment before sighing and grabbing Draco by the arm. “You come with us.” he growled, surprising Draco with the sudden change in tone. “Or I drag you out of here and make a scene.”
“Get your hands off of me!” Draco shrieked.
The reaction was immediate and visceral. He twisted violently in Sirius’s grasp, all color draining from his face as his shoulders hunched protectively around Callidora. The girl let out a startled cry and held onto him. His arm jerked free in sheer panic, and he stumbled back a step, nearly knocking into a nearby stool. People behind him yelled out in alarm.
Lupin’s eyes widened. Sirius blinked, caught off guard by the sudden terror blazing in Draco’s eyes.
Draco’s breathing turned shallow, his free hand trembling at his side. “Don’t—” he rasped, swallowing thickly. “Don’t touch me.”
Lupin stepped forward cautiously, palms raised. “Malfoy, it’s alright. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Draco’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. His whole body trembled, as if Fenrir was behind him.“Don’t—” he repeated, his voice cracking this time. “Just don’t grab me.”
“You could’ve just said that,” Sirius muttered gruffly, folding his arms again. “I didn’t know.” Sirius added under his breath, barely audible.
Lupin sighed. “Will you come with us quietly?”
Draco pursed his lips. Narcissa had advised them to find Sirius Black. Even if he were to be imprisoned, Callidora would receive proper treatment. She wouldn’t have to sleep on a cold floor and need to seek body heat, nor would she survive off of stale bread.
“Only if my sister receives treatment.” Draco compromised.
Callidora nodded at that. “Sick. So tired. Draco too.”
“She has Pneumonia.” He added, ignoring his sister’s statement.
Lupin stepped forward, his expression now far more grave than before. “Pneumonia?” he echoed, voice tight with concern. “How long has she been like this?”
Draco didn’t answer immediately, wary that Lupin seemed to be sympathizing so fast. His jaw was clenched. “Too long.”
“She needs proper potions,” Lupin said firmly, already turning toward the exit. “A Healer and bed rest. You should’ve come to us sooner.”
Draco bristled. “Yes, because I’m so welcome these days.”
“Spare me the martyr act,” Sirius snapped. “What if he’s lying? We can’t trust so easily.”
Lupin gave Sirius a sidelong glance. “She’s burning up. That kind of fever isn’t faked.”
Draco held Callidora closer, offended at the mere suggestion that he would pawn his sister. “You think I’d use my sister as a tool? That I’d drag her through filth and starvation just to what—spy on you? Pretend she’s dying?”
Sirius didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes hardened. “I’ve seen worse tricks from your kind.”
“My kind?” Draco snapped, eyes flaring. “She’s a child. She's sick.”
“She called me Black,” Sirius growled. “Whether you like it or not, she has been fed stories, I won’t take your word on it. You're not clean, Malfoy.”
The statement angered Draco to no end. He understood, at least, why Sirius would make such accusations. The man had spent most of his life surrounded by enemies and betrayal; trust didn’t come easily to someone like him. He probably heard numerous stories from Harry about how a rightful git Draco was. But that didn’t make it any less infuriating. Yes, Draco had been raised by Death eaters, and he had embraced pureblood superiority for most of his life, antagonizing Granger on a daily basis–which he deeply regretted.
But Callidora hadn’t. She was a child who had done nothing but breathe and suffer in the cold. Draco had taken it upon himself to raise her to be innocent and kind. He read her fairy tales, not tales about their bloodline. He taught her to say please and thank you, to help those smaller than her, to share her food even when house elves. He shielded her from the bitterness that had made up so much of his own childhood, even from Bellatrix’s scathing words. He had wiped her tears gently, did not tell her to stop crying, and allowed her to sleep beside him without complaint. He had sung lullabies—quietly, off-key, awkwardly—but with more love than any Malfoy had probably ever expressed aloud.
In a way, Draco had taken the very worst of his upbringing and used it like a map of what not to do.
Before he could physically react, Lupin stepped between them then, a hand outstretched—not to grab Draco, but to offer calm. “Enough of this, let’s focus on our priorities. We’ll sort out the rest later. The girl needs care, and she needs it now.”
Sirius scoffed under his breath, but he didn’t object further. He looked at Callidora again and sighed like it physically pained him. He leveled Draco with a heavy glare. “One step out of line, Malfoy, and I will hex you.”
Draco didn’t argue. He only nodded and tightened his arms around his sister.
Before they left, Lupin turned to glare down the group of wizards Draco had approached. His expression hardened into something cold and furious, and his voice dropped low with venom.
“You lot should be ashamed of yourselves,” he snapped. “Circling him like bloody vultures, trying to take a few locks for a few galleons? One more mistake of this sort and I’ll have you all questioned under Veritaserum for attempted exploitation. Let’s see how funny your jokes are at the Ministry.”
The men shrank back slightly under the weight of Lupin’s anger and no one opened their mouths to protest, clearly chastised. Draco himself was staring at the scene with open shock. Professor Lupin was always calm back in Hogwarts, never the kind to raise his voice. The man who’d offered to buy Draco’s hair looked especially pale, his flask slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.
“Come on Moony,” Sirius yawned, already turning on his heel. “Before Malfoy’s prissy ass runs off.”
Draco shot him a venomous glare, but he didn’t resist when Lupin’s hand gently pressed at his back to guide him forward. Before they made it to the door, Lupin paused and supplied a black cloak, offering it to Draco. It was far too big, the hem dragging, but it was thick and warm.
Draco raised his eyebrow. “You want me to cover my face?”
Lupin pursed his lips. He merely pressed the cloak into Draco’s arms and replied quietly. “It is too dangerous to apparate with an ill child and to have you wandering around near the Order headquarters under open eye. Some members won’t take kindly to it.”
Draco scoffed, adjusting the cloak around Callidora so it could double as cover for her. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be dragging me along, Professor.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to run that mouth of yours,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Now hurry along.”
“I’d rather be hexed than have to listen to your voice for another minute.” Draco snapped, tightening his grip on his sister and stepping through the door.
“I’m glad we’re in mutual agreement.” Sirius grinned, earning a jab from Lupin.
The walk to Grimmauld Place felt longer than Draco expected. They passed through many corridors and dark pathways, weaving between abandoned buildings and narrow alleyways. They seemed to be in a muggle-heavy area, Draco realized, because the buildings were different and people’s attires looked unique, much different than the usual wizarding robes.
The night air bit at his cheeks, and the heaviness of Callidora in his arms made his shoulders ache. She’d grown quieter—no more than a whimper every now and then—but when she shifted and whimpered again, he felt her small hands tug at his collar.
“Draco,” she mumbled, voice thin and tired, “my tummy hurts…”
“I know,” he responded quietly. “We’ll be there soon. Just a bit longer, mon ange.”
But his arms were shaking, and Callidora didn’t feel light anymore. Her body radiated heat through his thin robes. Draco hadn’t slept properly in days—not with Callidora coughing beside him all night, or with his mind endlessly calculating what they had left, who they could trust, and how long they had before someone caught them. He hadn’t eaten either, not really. The last proper thing he’d had was a dry crust of bread days ago, and even that he’d given most of to Callidora.
Without a word, Sirius stepped closer and held out his arms. “Give her.”
Draco looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Pardon?”
“You’re going to drop her if you keep going like this,” Sirius said, less snide than usual. “And no offense, but you look like you’d faint if the wind blew on you.”
Draco hesitated. The idea of handing her over sent a cold chill through him, but when he looked down and saw how pale she was, how her lips trembled without the energy to complain anymore, he swallowed his pride.
Reluctantly, he passed her into Sirius’s arms.
To his surprise, Sirius took her gently, carefully supporting her head and back like he’d done this before. Callidora blinked up at him groggily, half-ready to cry—until Sirius began murmuring low under his breath. Not even full words, just the kind of nonsense tunes meant to soothe a frightened child.
Callidora didn’t cry. Instead, she laid her head against his shoulder, tiny fingers fisting into the collar of his coat.
“You smell like smoke,” she mumbled sleepily.
Sirius blinked. “Er—sorry about that.”
She yawned, not bothered in the least. “It’s warm.”
A pause. Then: “Well… glad I meet your standards.” Sirius muttered, awkwardly adjusting her weight against his chest.
Callidora stirred again. “I’m hungry…”
Draco immediately tensed. He opened his mouth, guilt flashing across his face, but before he could say a word, Sirius was already digging into the inside pocket of his coat.
“Here,” he said gruffly, pulling out a wrapped biscuit—slightly crumbled, but still whole. “Don’t tell anyone I carry these around. Ruins my image.”
Callidora blinked up at him, eyes wide and glassy. “Thank you, Black.”
Sirius cleared his throat. “Just Sirius,” he said, offering the biscuit. “Don’t make me sound older than I am.”
Callidora nibbled at the biscuit in small bites. After a moment, she broke off a piece and held it out toward Draco, her fingers trembling slightly. “Draco. You need it too.”
Draco almost smiled, touched by how sweet his sister was. “I’m fine.” he assured her.
Lupin looked over from where he was walking ahead but said nothing. Sirius shifted her slightly and reached into his coat again. “I’ve got extra,” he said, tone casual. “Eat before you fall over. I’m not carrying both of you.”
Draco was stunned silent, but still reluctantly accepted the biscuit. He was not one to reject free food, especially after the days he spent going hungry. If Sirius’s kindness deterred him, he tried his best not to show it.
“Sirius,” Callidora said, a smile forming as she leaned her head against his shoulder again, more settled now. “You’re nice.”
Sirius smiled albeit himself and patted her head.
They turned the corner and slowed near a block of worn, soot-darkened houses. Grimmauld Place didn’t stand out — if anything, it looked even more miserable than Draco felt. Number Twelve didn’t exist until Sirius whispered the words of the spell under his breath. A strange ripple passed through the air like smoke dissolving, and then the house revealed itself.
Draco stared in awe.
Sirius nudged his arm. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
The heavy door creaked open, and the air was thick with dust and something Draco could only describe as… old magic. Wards buzzed faintly as they stepped inside. The hallway was dim, oppressive, the walls lined with dark portraits covered by moth-eaten drapes. One of them twitched.
Callidora gave a tiny sneeze.
“Don’t wake the portrait,” Sirius ushered quickly. “She’s loud and hates everyone.”
“Who?” Draco whispered.
“His mum,” Lupin supplied helpfully, a smile forming on his lips. “Though she might not hate you, considering you’re a Malfoy.”
“Walburga Black,” Draco muttered, mostly to himself. “Mother always said she was intense.”
Sirius snorted. “Intense is one way to describe her.”
Lupin guided him to a room in the vast house and sat him down. Sirius entered after him and locked the door, placing Callidora in Draco’s arm. Draco sat awkwardly and watched the pair shuffle around, feeling out of place.
Lupin came close with a potion, and sat on his knees to face Draco. Behind them, Sirius watched warily.
Lupin offered the potion first to Callidora. “Just a sip.” he said gently. He beckoned her to swallow the contents of the liquid and she did so, scrunching her face after getting a taste of medication.
“Ew!” She coughed, much more awake.
Draco let out a tired huff, a shadow of a smile tugging at his lips. “Callidora.”
She pouted and swatted at Lupin’s hand, though it was more playful than hostile. “No more! Too bitter!”
Draco huffed affectionately. “Be a good girl, Dora,” he chided. “We don’t hit people, remember? That’s not...?”
“Nice,” Callidora finished his sentence with resignation. She looked at Lupin and pursed her lips. “Sorry.”
Lupin smiled despite himself. “Apology accepted.”
Behind them, Sirius gave a low chuckle, looking slightly amused, his tense posture easing just a touch.
Already, Callidora seemed to be in better health, if that was possible. She seemed more alert and awake, smiling at Sirius.
“Better?” Lupin asked, tilting her chin slightly to examine her pupils.
Callidora nodded. “Not sleepy anymore.”
“Good. That means it’s working.” He shifted slightly and turned to Draco, holding out the half-empty vial. “She’ll need this daily—first thing in the morning and before bed. I’ll prepare it fresh and give it to her.”
Draco raised his eyebrows, suspicion tightening his features. “You?”
“Yes,” Lupin replied evenly, as if daring Draco to argue. “I’m the one with access to the ingredients. I remember that you had rather impressive skills in potions, but no one trusts you enough to give you access to a cauldron. Unless you’d rather she go without?”
Draco clenched his jaw, but he didn’t rise to the bait, knowing better than to argue.
Lupin, sensing the tension, spoke. “Dittany, Flobberworm mucus, Valerian root, and dragon liver. Murtlap tentacles as well. Enough to rebuild the nervous system and encourage the immune response. Her symptoms suggest more than pneumonia, possibly dark magic exposure or long-term malnourishment. Either way, we’ll keep her monitored.”
The combination wasn’t unheard of, but it was expensive. Draco narrowed his eyes. “You gave her dragon liver? That’s highly unstable if brewed too hot—”
“Which it wasn’t,” Lupin interrupted calmly. “And in this dose, it stabilizes her core. Her magic’s been fluctuating. If you haven’t noticed, she’s probably been heating up the blankets in her sleep.”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “I noticed.”
Sirius cleared his throat. “I suppose now that the small talk is over and tensions are still high, I might as well say it. Malfoy, we’re going to have to have a word with you alone. If you could follow me to where you’ll be kept, that’ll be ideal.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Sirius said, stepping forward. “We’re not locking you in a dungeon, but we have questions to ask. You are a Death Eater after all.”
“ I am not,” Draco snapped. “Not yet at least. And, you said you weren’t going to separate us.”
“Not yet?” Sirius scoffed, frowning.
Lupin interjected as always, falling into the role of peacemaker. “We never said that. We said she’d be safe—and she is. But this is serious. We need to understand what happened before we brought you here, and what danger you may have led to our doorstep.”
“You’ll have to hex me unconscious,” Draco’s jaw clenched. “I’m not leaving her.”
Sirius gave him a sharp look. “You think we’d harm her?”
“I don’t think she’ll feel safe without me,” Draco bit out. His tone cracked around the edges, too frayed from sleepless nights and too drained to hide it anymore. “You don’t get it. I’ve been the only one she trusts.”
“She won’t even be alone,” Lupin said gently, stepping in to try and soften the blow. “I’ll stay with her. You have my word.”
“No!” Draco repeated, his voice rising up. He looked between the two men, the panic building just beneath the surface.
Callidora blinked up at him, sensing something shift. “Draco?” she whispered, clutching his sleeve.
Sirius stepped forward with a hiss. “You’re scaring her.”
“I don’t care—!” Draco started, chest heaving. His eyes burned. “You’re the one trying to take her away, you’re scaring her! I promised my mother that I’d protect her!”
“She’s a child,” Sirius snapped, grabbing his arm. “If you want to protect her then stop acting like an animal and use your bloody head!”
“Don’t touch me!” Draco snarled, jerking away.
But Lupin had already knelt beside Callidora, offering a warm look. “Callidora,” he said gently, offering his hands. “Let’s go pick a blanket for you, alright? Something soft. You can show me your favorite color.”
Callidora clung harder to Draco, clearly sensing something was wrong now. “Don’t wanna go,” she whimpered, voice wobbling. “Want Draco.”
“Callidora–”
“Noooo,” she wailed, clinging tighter, the tears starting now—slow at first, then fast and confused and scared. “Don’t wanna! Don’t wanna—!”
Draco didn’t realize he was shaking until Sirius stepped in and yanked him away, firm and final. “Enough. Upstairs. Now.”
“Let go of me!” Draco fought, but Sirius had him by the arm in a grip that left no room for any argument. The hallway swam past in a blur as he was dragged, stumbling, up the creaking stairs. Behind them Callidora’s cries only served to increase Draco’s drive to fight back. It didn’t defer Sirius in the slightest.
Sirius shoved open a door at the end of the hall and all but threw Draco into the room. It reeked faintly of dust and something bitter.
Draco staggered a step, catching himself on the heavy bedpost before looking up. The wallpaper was dark and peeling, the curtains drawn tight, suffocating what little light might've softened the space. His gaze landed on a small table in the corner, where a framed photograph sat. A wedding portrait. The couple in the picture stood stiff and unsmiling, sending an eerie feeling down his spine. Walburga and Orion Black’s room– Draco realized dimly, though he had never seen them before.
“This is sick.” Draco whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Behind him, Sirius leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, breathing hard. “Fitting, isn’t it?” he muttered. “Figured if anyone deserved to scream in this godforsaken room, it might as well be another Black.”
Draco glared at him.
“It appears that having a sense of humour is not a trait in this forsaken family,” Sirius waved his hands. “Unlike your Death Eater friends, we don’t hurt kids—”
“I am not a kid!” Draco snapped.
“—so you will sit here and wait until we come back and talk to you,” Sirius continued as if he wasn’t interrupted. “Collect yourself and rest, Merlin knows you need it. Kreacher will provide you with food in a moment.”
“You don’t make any sense,” Draco bit out, scowling. “First you act like I’m filth, then you pretend to care? Pick a side.”
Sirius pursed his lips. “I’m not a villain, Malfoy.”
“Sure.”
“If my memory serves correctly,” Sirius said coldly. “Your father tried to kill my godson. Nearly succeeded.”
Draco’s glare didn’t waver, but his fingers curled tightly into fists. “I’m not him.”
“We get to decide that because it doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous,” Sirius turned to leave, his voice clipped. “I assume that you’re here because of your sister, not because you’ve changed. Don’t forget that.”
Draco flinched like he’d been slapped, but said nothing. Despite everything, Sirius was right. Draco was still a coward, and if it weren’t for Callidora, he would’ve had the Dark Mark.
Maybe—unless he got another sudden burst of courage as he did with Fenrir.
Sirius reached for the doorknob, then paused. “You don’t get points for not being Lucius. And you sure as hell don’t get my trust.” With that, he yanked the door open and left without another word.
Draco let out a breath. His mind raced as he attempted to collect himself, the events of the past months replaying in an instant. Christmas Holidays would soon be over so students would return to Hogwarts. Draco would have to return as well, but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case anymore. Narcissa had told him that Sirius would help, he thought bitterly. Instead he was held as a prisoner and kept away from his sister.
Still, he could not blame Sirius or Lupin for their actions. Draco had his fair share of dirty history, especially when it came to their precious Potter. Merlin, Draco was on his path to becoming a Death Eater and knew plenty of information regarding their plans. The newest ones as well, including the most dangerous one, a plot to kill Dumbledore. It was meant to be his mission. But, in spite of everything, they hadn’t hurt Draco, instead they went out of their way to help heal his sister.
If the roles were exchanged and Potter was captured by the Malfoys, Draco was certain he would not receive half of that kindness.
A thump broke Draco out of the spell of thoughts. It came from the closet.
He froze.
Was there someone else in the room ? Draco thought as he stood on guard, creeping towards the door.
He rose slowly, each movement stiff. His hand searched for his wand, but fear coursed through his body when he realized it was missing. Lupin or Sirius must have taken it. Still, he crept toward the closet door, breath catching when the thumping stopped altogether..
Draco’s fingers brushed the handle and he opened the door.
Cold air spilled out and Draco couldn’t help but shiver. The closet was dark, unnaturally so, leaving a dreadful feeling. It seemed to drain everything, including his energy. His skin crawled and then—
Fenrir Greyback stepped out.
He emerged like a nightmare unfolding before Draco’s eyes, all yellow teeth and wild eyes. There was blood on his claws, he realized numbly. Draco’s heart stopped. His vision tunneled and he froze, unable to move or run.
“Draco.” Fenrir crooned.
The sound shattered him.
A scream tore out of Draco’s throat before he realized it was his own. He stumbled back, eyes wide with panic, legs giving way beneath him. His chest heaved, shallow and broken. The wall caught him—barely.
“No—no, no—” he chanted, voice cracking. “Not again, not again.”
Fenrir stepped forward. Draco shrunk back and attempted to crawl back, but the panic seizing through him caused him to slip and slam his jaw against the wooden floor, the pain barely registering.
“Help!” Draco screamed, banging on the floor. “Please, someone help! I’ll talk—I’ll tell you everything, I swear, just please, please, please—!”
Fenirir leaned over him. “What would your father say if he heard you begging like a useless mutt?”
“This can’t be real,” Draco cried frantically. “It can’t, it can’t. There is no way you’re in Grimmauld place–”
“You can never escape me, little prince. Children are my speciality.”
Draco’s heart was a wild, unbearable thing in his chest. He curled in on himself, trying to make himself seem small. He clutched his knees to his chest, arms locked so tight they trembled with the strain. His nails dug into the thin skin of his forearms, breaking it—he didn’t feel it but he smelt the metallic scent of blood. Maybe this way Fenrir wouldn’t be able to rip his legs apart and have his way with him. He bit down on his sleeve to stop the sob from escaping, but it still tore out of him.
“Make it stop,” Draco whispered into the fabric, hiccuping. “Please make it stop, I’ll be good—I’ll be so good—”
Fenrir crouched low, grinning with yellow teeth and reached out.
Draco shut his eyes and screamed.
Notes:
Thank you all for reading this chapter/work, i really appreciate it. i was really nervous posting it, especially worried about the tags, you know, if they covered everything without giving away the plot.
this is going to be a journey, i'm taking 2 summer classes that are accelerated since they're only for a duration of 1 month and juggling this! but, i'm excited!
Please don't copy my work without permission.
thank you all again!!!!
Chapter 2
Notes:
Warnings: Talk of rape, the aftermath of rape, mild self harm (implied a few times) and severe self-victim blaming.
Please heed these warnings!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Remus pinched his nose, watching as Sirius dragged Draco up the stairs and took him into another room. Callidora screamed and writhed in his arms, trying to escape and follow her brother.
Remus sighed. “Callidora,” he said slowly. “Please don’t cry. We’re trying to keep you safe.”
The girl looked at him, lips trembling as tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. Her eye bags were more prominent. She pointed a shaking finger in the direction Sirius and Draco left.
“Want Draco!” She cried. “Bad man hurt him!”
“Little one, Sirius is not bad,” Remus said, attempting to ease her by offering a small smile. “Sirius is your mother’s cousin. He just wants to talk to your brother.”
Callidora only screamed harder. Remus winced at the pitch of her cry—it pierced his ears like a blade. She squirmed against his hold, fists pounding weakly at his chest with all the force a child could muster.
“No!” she wailed, breath hitching. “Draco never leaves! You took him!” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Remus maneuvered her carefully, shifting her so that she sat in his lap and they were on eye level, though she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Her little hands gripped her light robes in tight fists, face red from crying. It was frightening how similar she looked to Draco–all white hair, gray eyes and pointy chin.
“I know you’re scared,” he said gently. “But he’s not in trouble. He’s just talking to Sirius, that’s all. We need to understand what’s going on so we can help both of you.”
“No one helps,” Callidora said sadly. “Maman is gone.”
Remus’s throat tightened as he observed the girl before him. Callidora wasn’t crying anymore—not really. Her voice had gone soft and quiet, which, in his mind, was worse. She bit her lip, as if trying to hold back any tears. Children were supposed to scream and wail and throw tantrums, not learn how to stifle their cries.
He brushed a bit of hair from her damp forehead. “Your mother would have, if she could. She’ll come back to you soon, I know it. You need rest now.”
“I don’t like resting,” she mumbled, curling into herself. “I don’t like this house. It smells like someone mean.”
Remus blinked, surprised by the sharpness tucked in her soft voice. “Really?” he asked, unsure what kind of answer he was about to receive.
“Mean smells like Aunt Bella,” she continued seriously, eyes big and grave. “The walls yell at home. Here too. I think the house is mad.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t like places that yell.”
Lupin exhaled slowly, running a hand down her back in steady motions, hoping to comfort her. “It is an old house,” he offered softly. “A lot of bad things happened here a long time ago.”
Callidora didn’t respond at first. She looked at Remus, observing him for a moment. “Bad things happened to Draco.” she whispered, a tear streaming down her cheek.
Remus froze, his hand stilling on her back. He nodded at her, motioning for the girl to continue though a pit began to settle in his stomach.
“I won’t get mad,” Remus promised. “You can tell me.”
“A bad man came,” she continued. “Draco said don’t look, and I didn’t, ‘cause I’m good. I closed my eyes so hard it hurt.” Her lip trembled. “But I heard a bad man hurt Draco.” Her tiny fists clenched his robe, twisting the fabric in her hands. “I didn’t help,” she hiccuped, the guilt breaking through her voice. “Was so scared. Can’t do spells. I’m only little.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. “I just cry and cry.”
“You were very brave,” Remus insisted, though his throat burned. Just what had happened at the Malfoy manor? “You listened to Draco, and you stayed quiet to protect yourself. That’s not just crying, Callidora. That’s being strong in the scariest moment.”
“Okay.” she nodded. It was shocking how easily he got the girl to agree with him. A good thing too, she was less stubborn than her brother.
“Do. . .do you know who the bad man is?” Remus asked, dreading the answer.
Callidora pursed her lips. “No. He’s scary and has big nails. Always with Aunt Bella.”
Remus paused. “Big nails?” He repeated. “Human?”
Callidora shrugged and didn’t say anything. A pit filled his stomach. There was no way that person would be who he thought it was. Big nails must’ve been Callidora’s way of explaining how huge the man’s hands were. And, he must’ve looked scary enough for her not to be able to decipher who he was.
Swallowing his thoughts, Remus took that as a chance to rummage through Draco’s belongings and pull out the doll he spotted Callidora holding in the pub. It was an antique, that much was clear at a glance. It had porcelain skin and rosy cheeks, and long hair very much similar to Callidora’s own light hair. The doll had an extravagant pale blue dress adorned with many ruffles that was tied together with an empire style bonnet. But now, mud stained the hem and sleeves of the dress, the lace was frayed and torn in places, and one glassy eye had a faint crack running through it.
Remus held it gently, mindful of its fragility, and extended it toward Callidora. “Is this your friend?” he asked softly.
Callidora’s eyes widened. “Ma poupée. . .” she said in shock, and grabbed it, wrapping her arms around it protectively and burying her face in its shoulder.
Remus couldn’t help but smile. “What’s her name?”
“Poupée.” Callidora responded. She leaned back with a small smile on her face, observing the doll. Her fingers traced the lace of the Poupée’s dress, uncaring that it was dirty.
Remus felt incredibly awful for what he was about to do, as he wasn’t one to lie and manipulate others, but it was the only way to gain the girl’s trust.
He took a deep breath. “Yes, Draco left Poupey with me,” Remus lied casually, the doll’s name sounding foreign in his tongue.
“Poupeé,” Callidora corrected with a tiny frown, brows furrowing as she cradled the doll. “You said it funny.”
Remus bit the inside of his cheek. “Sorry, her name is funny. But yes, he left your doll with me. That means you can trust me, yeah?”
Callidora nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the doll’s chipped porcelain face. “Okay,” she whispered, curling back into his lap, Poupeé clutched close to her chest.
The door creaked open behind them. Remus glanced over his shoulder just as Sirius stepped into the room, running a hand through his hair and looking mildly exasperated.
“What are you doing?” Sirius asked, eyeing them with a raised brow.
“Working on damage control,” Remus said with a tired smile, motioning to the girl in his lap. “With Callidora and... Poupeé.”
Sirius blinked. “Poupeé?” He snorted.
Callidora nodded and pointed to the doll. Remus smiled. “Her name is Poupeé.”
“Moony, that just means doll in French.”
Remus gave him a look. “Yes, thank you, I do know that.”
He did not now, in fact.
Sirius grinned and leaned against the doorway. “So she named her doll ‘doll’ ?”
“She’s three, Padfoot.”
Sirius squinted. “Are you certain about that? She’s a bit too eloquent for a three year old.”
Remus rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to Callidora. He shifted slightly to better support her as she rested against him “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
Callidora nodded eagerly, lifting her head just a bit to meet his eyes. “Yes,” she smiled. “And Poupeé.”
Remus chuckled quietly, brushing her pale hair back from her face. “Of course. Can’t forget Poupée.”
The little girl held the doll up for a moment, turning it so its glassy eyes faced Remus, as if to include her in the conversation. “She says you’re nice.”
Sirius snorted softly. “Merlin, now we’re talking to haunted dolls.”
Callidora narrowed her eyes at him, pouting. “She’s not haunted. She’s polite.”
“Polite and judgmental,” Sirius added, nodding solemnly. “Just like a proper French lady.”
Callidora looked down at her doll and whispered something to her, lips moving around sounds too quiet to make out. Then she nodded, as though getting a reply. “She says you smell like a dog.”
Sirius clutched his chest in mock offense. “She’s rude.”
“She’s honest ,” Callidora corrected primly.
Remus barked out a laugh. “Poupée is not wrong,” he grinned, enjoying Sirius’s expression. “I’ll tell you a secret, Callidora. Sirius can turn into a dog.”
Callidora’s eyes widened. She stared at Sirius with shock. “Really?”
“Oui, madame.” Sirius offered a quick bow before morphing into Padfoot.
Callidora gasped and put her hand against Remus’s shoulder. Remus smiled and held her hand, coaxing her to go near Sirius–or, well, Padfoot. Callidora didn’t budge, watching with wide eyes as Padfoot slowly inched towards her, his ears relaxed. He extended his paw towards the girl, watching as she observed it and barked when she took his paw.
“He’s soft,” Callidora giggled as she moved her hand to scratch Padfoot’s ear, earning a purr from him. “Sounds funny!”
Remus’s smile grew bigger. “He’s purring,” he explained gently. “That means he likes what you're doing. Come, scratch his other ear.”
Callidora leaned towards Padfoot and extended her hand to scratch Padfoot’s other ear, laughing as she did so. Her little fingers found Padfoot’s other ear, rubbing clumsily but tenderly.
“You’re silly,” she whispered with a delighted grin. “You got a funny nose and no words.”
Padfoot gave a low sneeze that had her laughing again, this time louder, her earlier fears forgotten for a moment. Remus felt something soft bloom in his chest.
“I think he’s funny too,” Remus chuckled, sitting cross-legged now. “He doesn’t talk when he’s a dog, and his name becomes Padfoot, yah? That’s the magic.”
Padfoot huffed and Callidora clapped her hands together excitedly. “Magic dog!” she said with awe, then gently tapped her forehead to Padfoot’s like she was sharing a secret. “No worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Padfoot gave a sniff and pressed his wet nose against her cheek, making her squeal with joy.
“She likes you.” Remus said quietly, brushing back a strand of her white hair.
Padfoot gave a soft chuff, as if to say I know. Callidora had already begun humming, gently stroking his fur.
There was something oddly grounding about it all, the quiet banter, the feel of Callidora’s warm breath against Remus’s robes, the absurdity of Sirius getting along with a toddler and her doll. For a fleeting moment, it felt like something close to peace.
But only for a moment.
“You’re my dog now,” Callidora said with conviction. “But Draco’s too. We share.”
Sirius, at the mention of Draco’s name, shifted back into his human form, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling, toward the room where he’d left Draco. His grin faded, and his expression sobered as he closed his eyes, jaw tightening. Callidora pouted at that, and huffed and turned away, busying herself with her doll.
“Remus,” Sirius began quickly, already rambling. “I didn’t mean to snap at the boy. I just… He’s still a Malfoy. And I still see—”
“I know,” Remus interrupted gently. “But he’s not Lucius.”
“Yeah,” Sirius whispered. “I’m starting to realize that. But it’s hard, Moony. It’s hard to separate the name from the boy.” He swallowed, voice growing raw. “I hear ‘Malfoy’ and I see him, sneering and smug, just like his father. I remember Harry’s stories about how much of a bully he was, that prat.”
Remus didn’t respond right away. He watched Sirius quietly, the way he kept pacing, kept wringing his hands like he was trying to pull the thoughts from his skin. He knew better than to speak now, it was better to let Sirius sort out his thoughts at his own pace.
“Fuck,” Sirius muttered and let out a shaky breath. He turned away, bracing both hands against the nearest wall. “Fuck.”
"Mind your language, Sirius. There’s a child present,” Remus said with a quiet scold, frowning. Callidora didn’t respond or even glance up, too absorbed in adjusting Poupeé’s bonnet to care.
Sirius scrubbed both hands over his face, dragging them down with a groan. His fingers trembled when they dropped back to his sides. “Merlin, I can’t. . .” Sirius said thickly, staring at a worn spot on the floorboards. “He reminds me so much of Regulus.”
Remus felt something hollow twist in his chest. It was rare for Sirius to speak about Regulus, even when he was alive. Even after his death, the name was never brought up, nor was the cause even discussed. Remus barely had any interactions with the younger Black, but he could not deny that the resemblance was uncanny.
“It’s like fate is playing a cruel trick on me,” Sirius went on, voice distant. “They look alike, every little thing in them. They have the same tilt of their chin. The way they cross their arms when they’re angry—and those eyes. It’s–they both have that cold look they pull when they act like they don’t care but you can see the emotions hidden in their eyes. Merlin, the only difference is that Malfoy has lighter features.”
“Sirius–”
“Fate wants me to fail twice,” Sirius laughed bitterly. “I failed to save Regulus and watched him become a monster. Now I have to watch Cissy’s brat do the same.”
“He’s trying,” Remus said, quietly. “You saw what he did. He got that little girl out of there. He got out.”
“Is it enough?” Sirius asked, meeting his gaze. “If we treat his sister and let them go, would he go back? What happens when it’s all over, Remus? Did he really change, or is it because he has no other choice?’
Remus opened his mouth to say something but a shrill scream stopped them. Callidora immediately tensed. Her wide eyes darted around the room like she didn’t know where to run, but instinctively, she clutched Poupeé tight to her chest and buried herself further into Remus’s coat, her tiny fist curling around the fabric.
Sirius tensed, worried eyes meeting Remus’s gaze. He was on his feet in an instant, muscles tense and wand halfway drawn. “That was—”
“I know,” Remus said, already rising with Callidora in his arms.
Another crash followed—something, or someone, was pounding against the floor above, followed by another scream. It sounded pained, coming from the room upstairs where they’d left Draco.
Callidora whimpered, pressing her face into Remus’s shoulder. “It’s the bad man,” she whispered, terrified. “He found us.”
Remus didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tight, and he held her closer. “Stay here,” he said to Sirius, though they both knew he wouldn’t.
Sirius was already moving. “Like hell I will.”
They both raced up the stairs, Sirius making it to the door first and kicking it open. Remus followed through, hugging Callidora to his chest so she couldn’t see what was happening. Before them, Draco was on the floor screaming, his knees held to his face. A figure stood over him–Fenrir, Remus realized distantly as a cold feeling settled in his stomach.
Callidora turned to the scene before her and screamed. “Bad man!” she shrieked, sobbing. “Bad man is hurting Draco! Help! Sirius help!”
Remus felt cold sweat trickle down his neck. The air felt heavier all of a sudden, thick with something dangerous. What was that man doing here? His stomach twisted violently, the familiar coil of dread tightening deep in his gut. The name alone was enough to drag him back into the darkness of memory: blood on the floor, the sound of his mother screaming, the agony of a child's body breaking in unnatural ways under a curse meant for beasts. There was no way Fenrir was here to turn another child. No—he couldn’t, not in Grimmauld Place.
Remus let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. His hands were shaking and his nails bit into the skin of his palm. Every fiber of his being wanted to tear through the walls. The man was a monster, and through his fear, anger surged through his ribs. His eyes scanned the room and noticed the closet door was slightly ajar—just enough to feel wrong. A cold prickling sensation crept up his spine.
Remus felt his throat tighten. “Why is there a boggart here, Sirius?” he demanded.
Sirius didn’t answer, his wand was already in hand before he fully registered it. “ Riddickuls!” He shouted, a jet of light bursting from his wand and morphing Fenrir into a senile being before he disappeared completely.
Sirius, to Remus’s shock, was the first to run towards Draco. As soon as he touched the younger boy, Draco screamed and ripped himself from Sirius’s grasp, shaking himself back and forth.
“Please,” he begged, crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please don’t touch me, please–”
“Malfoy!” Sirius yelled, raising his voice in hopes of grabbing Draco’s attention. He only shrunk back. “It’s me, Sirius–”
That made Draco cry more. “You promised!” He sobbed, earning a confused look from both Sirius and Remus. “You said you were different! You made me think you wouldn’t hurt me, but you did! You’re all the same!” He moved his hands, dragging his nails that were covered with blood from when he was digging into his skin, and crawled backwards. His back hit the wall, and Draco grabbed his hair, pulling it harshly. Remus covered Callidora’s eyes, watching as Sirius gently pulled Draco’s hands away and held them tightly.
“That was a boggart, Malfoy,” Sirius explained, obviously stressed. “It wasn’t real. I forgot my parent’s used to keep them here. Merlin, I’m sorry.”
Draco shook his head and thrashed harder, voice rising into a panicked wail as he repeated himself. “Let me go, let me go let me go let me go–”
Sirius flinched, though his hand remained unmoving. “Malfoy, no one is going to hurt you , ” he said desperately.
But Draco wasn’t hearing him.
His fists pounded against the floor, nails broken and knuckles scraped. “You lied—you lied—you said —” He hiccuped mid-sentence, gasping through another sob his body tried to fight off.
Remus reached to pull Sirius back, guilt eating at his features like acid. A part of him was scared that such a moment would pull Sirius back into his memories, reminding him of the moments where he was in Draco’s place. “Sirius,” he said quietly. “Let me handle this. Take Callidora and leave.”
Sirius shook his head. “No,” he said determinedly, a hint of sorrow seeping into his voice. “I did this, so I’ll fix it.” He turned back to Draco, still crouching low, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “Draco, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re not at the Manor. You’re in Grimmauld Place, with me, with Remus, with Callidora. That wasn’t real, I promise it was just a boggart.”
Draco’s breath hitched, but his sobs began to quiet down. “Leave me alone, please leave me alone.”
“I know this is scary.” Sirius continued, ignoring Draco’s comment. “We’ll take it one step at a time, yeah? Can you open your eyes and tell me what you see?”
Draco didn’t move for a moment, but then he slowly opened his eyes, meeting Sirius’s gaze. Remus’s heart wrenched when he saw how red his eyes were, still glassy from the tears streaming down his cheeks. There were scars around his neck that were freshly bleeding. Remus did not want to imagine what kind of panic or fear could have caused Draco to claw at his own throat like that.
“You.” Draco croaked, his voice hoarse.
Sirius offered a tight smile, his eyebrows still furrowed. “Good, good,” he praised. “Can you tell me three other things you see?”
Draco looked around, his gaze stopping at Remus. “Professor Lupin,” he licked his lips. “Dora, and. . .Poupée.”
“And no Fenrir,” Remus offered, watching as Draco looked around the room. “He was never here, Draco. It was just a boggart.”
Draco’s hand reached for his wrist, his nails digging into it. Sirius tsked lightly and gently pulled Draco’s fingers away from his wrists, holding them in his hands.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Sirius muttered, quietly so that Callidora wouldn't hear. “Can you tell me why Fenrir was your boggart?”
Draco shook his head and pursed his lips tightly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” he said hoarsely. He looked over at Callidora and motioned for Remus to hand her over. Remus hesitated, but only for a moment, seeing that it was best for the younger to hold his sister and calm himself. He sat on his knees and gently passed Callidora into Draco’s arms, watching how the girl immediately wrapped her hands around his neck.
Remus frowned. “Draco, I had a personal encounter with him,” he confessed, ignoring Sirius’s look. “I know how evil he could be. This is a safe place, we want you to trust us.”
“I—I can’t…” Draco’s voice cracked. He shook his head, faster this time, his breathing growing uneven. “I can’t say it. I can’t—”
“If, for a moment, you think this is shameful,” Remus cut in, the words tumbling out with more force than he intended, “if you think for a second that this is something you brought on yourself—that you deserved it, or didn’t fight hard enough—then stop.”
Draco flinched, but Remus wasn’t done. He stepped closer, crouching a little to meet Draco’s eye.
“I was bitten by Fenrir when I was four,” Remus said, voice unsteady now. “Four. I didn’t understand what was happening, nor did I know what a werewolf was. I spent my entire childhood thinking I was broken and cursed. That everything bad that happened to me was my fault.” His hands curled into fists. “And for years, I let that man’s shadow rule over my life.”
Draco's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Remus took a breath. “But I was a child. And so are you. And you are not to blame for what he did to you. Do you hear me?”
Sirius nodded, gaze softening. “It’s not your fault, Draco.”
It was like a dam broke the moment those words left Sirius’s mouth. Draco’s face crumpled as his body folded in on itself as he began to sob reverently. The tears came fast and heavy, streaking down his cheeks as his shoulders shook. His pale skin flushed pink, almost feverish, and he covered his mouth with a trembling hand to stifle his cries. He then pressed his nose into Callidora’s hair and let out a shuddering breath.
“Ma petite étoile,” he let out a broken laugh between sobs, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m so sorry.”
Callidora shook her head as her lower lip trembled. She extended her hand to stroke the scars around Draco’s throat, crying quietly as she did so. “Hurt.” she whined, turning to Sirius.
Sirius nodded solemnly, his expression unreadable. “I know,” he said softly. “We’re going to fix it. I promise.”
Callidora sniffled and buried her face in Draco’s neck again, small fingers gripping the collar of his robes. Draco held her tighter, arms trembling as he rocked her gently whispering things too low for the others to hear.
“Would you tell us if you were alone?” Remus asked, watching Draco’s face contort slightly. He didn’t say anything, only pursed his lips, but that was enough for them. Remus nodded at Sirius.
“Kreacher!” Sirius called out, voice hardening. “Kreacher! Get in here!”
A cracking sound followed and Kreacher immediately appeared, grumbling under his breath. “Kreacher comes when he is called,” he muttered darkly. “Master summons Kreacher like he is a common servant, no respect for the old ways, filthy blood-traitor.”
“Take Callidora to another room,” Sirius commanded. “Get her changed and feed her.”
Kreacher huffed, turning to face Draco and Callidora. His eyes widened when he set his gaze on them. “Little mistress,” Kreacher whispered in awe. “Little mistress of the Noble House… Kreacher sees her now, oh yes. Pure blood, noble face, such a sweet little one.”
Callidora blinked at him, curious. She wiped her tears and peeked up at Draco as if asking permission to get up.
“I go?” she asked.
Draco nodded, still clutching her hand gently before releasing it.
Callidora didn’t move yet. “You stay?”
Draco nodded again, offering a tired smile.
“Kreacher will take care of young mistress,” the elf said, bowing low, almost reverently. He reached for her hand with surprising care. “Kreacher will dress her in clean things and give her food fit for a Malfoy and Black, yes, yes.”
“Will Poupeé come?” Callidora asked softly, clutching the doll.
Kreacher turned to her, horrified at the thought of refusal. “Kreacher will carry the fine doll, yes, Kreacher would never leave little mistress’s things behind, oh no, never, never.”
Remus exchanged a surprised glance with Sirius as Callidora took Kreacher’s hand without hesitation. The elf gave another bow to Draco, lower than he’d ever given Sirius in his life, and led the child away, muttering as he went.
“So much like Mistress Cissy. . .such a precious child. . .Kreacher will protect her, yes he will.”
Draco watched Kreacher and Callidora rather warily as they left the room. He stubbornly refused to meet anyone’s gaze, instead staring at his hands. Sirius sighed as if he was growing annoyed, causing Draco to shrink back.
“Would you rather stay with Andromeda?” Sirius asked suddenly, seemingly pained at the question.
Draco glared at him. “If you want to kick us out, say it plainly.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Sirius snapped angrily, eyes widening a moment later after he realized the change in his tone. He glanced at Remus apologetically. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Andromeda is your mother’s sister, she wouldn’t hurt you.”
Draco didn’t say anything. He didn’t refuse though.
Sirius cleared his throat. “I know I haven’t been the best of. . .whatever we are. Family? Acquaintances? Hosts? For that, I apologize.”
Draco shrugged, leaning back against the wall. He closed his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. You’re kinder than most.”
“Will you tell us what happened?” Remus asked again, keeping his voice quiet.
Draco cracked an eye open, meeting his gaze as he pursed his lips. “If I tell you,” he said shakily. “You’ll kick me out, that is certain.”
“Who would throw out a teenager and a kid?” Remus asked softly.
“Father would,” Draco answered instantly with no hesitation in his voice. He turned his gaze to Sirius, whose breath had caught in his throat. “If he knew, he would.” Draco stared down at his hands.
"Lucius Malfoy is an evil man," Remus said, shaking his head. "He is a bigot, he is a cruel, and he has done terrible things. But, the one thing Lucius Malfoy isn't is a bad father, He loves you."
Draco met his gaze, pleading. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m weak. A coward. You’ll see how pathetic I really am.”
“Don’t,” Sirius said, the word low, almost growling. “Don’t you dare say that about yourself.”
Draco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, then wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes. “I told him no,” he said, crying openly now. “Actually, why would I lie?” He shook his head. “Fenrir gave me a choice. It was either me or my sister. I did this to myself. I chose this.” He exhaled shakily, jaw clenched. “I agreed. That’s not-that’s not the same thing as rape.”
Remus’s face went deathly pale. "What?"
Sirius jerked forward like he’d been punched, rage flashing in his eyes. “Don’t you dare say that,” he snapped angrily. “Don’t you ever minimize what he did to you. You did not agree to this, do you hear me?”
Draco shook his head. “But it was a choice,” he insisted, voice trembling. “Don’t you see? I said yes. I made a deal with him.” His breath hitched. “If I’d been braver, if I hadn’t hesitated, maybe I could’ve fought harder. I agreed to it in the end, he gave me the way out—”
“You were coerced,” Sirius cut in, standing now, fury vibrating in every word. “There was no real choice. That’s not consent, Draco. You were trying to survive and you were threatened with the life of someone you love.”
“Potter would have found a way out.” Draco said numbly.
Sirius’s expression darkened, and for a moment he looked genuinely hurt.
Draco wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. “I’m disgusting,” He muttered, curling in on himself. “I’m a disgrace to my family.”
“You are not disgusting,” Remus said, finally finding his voice. He looked furious, but in reality he was shocked. The boy had walked through the depths of hell only to be hurt by them as well.. “Fenrir is. He’s a monster. I swear to Merlin, if I ever see him—”
“You’ll think I’m a coward,” Draco said again, quieter this time, more broken. “I still dream about the event, every day. I feel his touch sometimes and it's so nauseating, I can't help but want to rip my skin. I can’t look at myself in the mirror.”
Remus leaned in close, a tear running down his cheek. “You survived,” he said, voice tight with grief. “You protected your sister. You got out. That’s not cowardice, Draco. That’s strength.”
“You don’t understand,” Draco whispered “Merlin, if you only knew. I wasn’t brave, I was terrified. I cried through the whole thing. I begged him not to hurt me.”
Remus didn’t look away. He moved slowly, so Draco wouldn’t flinch. “Can I touch you?” he asked gently. Draco nodded, so Remus gently placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “That’s not weakness,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s survival.”
Draco didn’t respond. He just stared past Remus, breathing shallowly, still in a state of mental frenzy.
“I mean it,” Remus continued. “What happened to you was not your fault. Nothing about how you responded makes you weak. You were terrified because it was terrifying. You cried because it was unbearable. And you begged, because you should have never been put in that position in the first place.”
Draco blinked once and let out a heavy sigh.
"Did Cissy do anything?" Sirius asked, searching Draco's face for any sort of answer. "She would burn the world to the ground before you get hurt."
Draco let out another sob, so raw it pulled at their heart. He clutched Remus’s robes, curling into himself like a child would. "I am impure," he trembled against Remus. "And my mother was left to pickup the pieces. She will die, Professor Lupin."
“You are not impure,” Remus said fiercely, fiercely enough that even Sirius looked up. “What was done to you doesn’t define who you are. It doesn't stain you, it stains his soul. He may have damaged your body, but he did not touch your soul.”
Draco tried to shake his head, but Remus wouldn’t let him pull away.
“She will not die,” Remus said, softer now. “Narcissa Black Malfoy is a beast when it comes to her children.”
Draco wanted to tell them about the promise his mother failed to make, but the words wouldn't formulate in his mouth. All he could do was cry against his Professor's chest while Sirius tried to soothe him.
“You were hurt,” Sirius finished firmly. “And now you're healing. That’s more than enough.”
“It’s more than enough.” Remus repeated.
I wish.
Draco did not believe it.
=-=-=-=-=-=
It was not more than enough, in a sense.
Every day, Draco would wake up from nightmares screaming bloody murder and waking up everyone. Once, Draco tried to put silencing charms around the room and ended up clawing his own throat from fear. Remus put his foot down and decided it was enough–he would be the one to sleep with Draco. It had gotten to a point where Callidora was moved to sleep downstairs, in hopes that he wouldn't startle her. Not alone of course, his little sister was still frightened of the dark so she slept with Sirius.
It seemed to help. While he still had nightmares, just knowing that someone else was present in the room helped ease the fear.
One day, over breakfast, when it was just Callidroa and Draco, Kreacher had slowly crept up to him. Callidora, who was enjoying a bowl of porridge, smiled at him and continued to eat, happily kicking her feet.
The elf bowed deeply before saying, “Kreacher wants Master Draco to know they tire of him, yes they do. Whispers in the dark, nasty mutterings from the werewolf and the disgraceful Black. Kreacher hears things, plans to send Master Draco and the young mistress to the blood traitor, filthy Andromeda.”
Draco froze.
“They say Master Draco is too much trouble,” Kreacher went on, his voice low and raspy, unaware of the turmoil brewing inside Draco. “Too much screaming, too many nightmares. Kreacher hears them say it.”
Callidora, busy trying to poke holes into the porridge with the spoon, didn’t notice her brother's hands slowly curl into fists.
Draco looked down, his stomach twisting painfully. “They didn’t say that,” he muttered, more to himself than the elf.
“Kreacher only wishes to serve the noble house,” the elf croaked. “But even the noble house is falling. Falling to strangers and shame.” And, with that, he left.
They wouldn’t . Draco thought desperately, frowning as he felt tears begin to gather in his eyes. Sirius and Lupin were different, they took care of him and fed him, even when they found out he was impure. They were kind, they smiled at him every morning. Lupin made both Draco and Callidora a steaming cup of hot chocolate every day without fail, and Sirius would tell him numerous stories of his days in Hogwarts.
Draco was beginning to feel safe. It wasn’t fair! He couldn’t take anything anymore. Why wasn’t he allowed to have good things?
In rage, he slammed his spoon on the table, startling Callidora.
“Draco?” she said softly, frowning.
She wasn’t scared–never scared. Callidora never feared Draco no matter the circumstances because she knew her brother would never harm her.
“Yes, Dora?” He responded numbly. Everything felt dull, and he was too tired to move.
“Draco angry?”
Draco sighed and closed his eyes. Exhaustion seeped through his bones. He couldn’t tell if he was more tired or more sick. “No.”
Callidora pursed her lips. “Call Siri? Or Moony?” she offered gently. She didn’t pronounce “Moony” quite right, but she always said it with affection.
The grandfather clock ticked somewhere nearby. Draco felt nauseous. “No,” he repeated, a little sharper this time. Then quieter: “No, I don’t want them.”
=-=-=-=-=-=
“Do you think that Andromeda would agree?” Sirius asked in a hushed voice.
Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I already spoke to her,” he said. “She agreed to house them, under certain conditions.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not entirely sure what all the conditions are,” Remus shook his head. “But she mentioned things about refraining from pureblooded teachings, not saying derogatory words towards muggles, things of that sort. Moody is already angry with this, he'd rather have him questioned under Veritaserum and sent to Azkaban.”
"Never," Sirius leaned against the wall, arms folded as he frowned. “It just doesn’t feel right, Moony. Sending them off like that, especially after everything.”
“I know,” Remus murmured. “But they can’t stay here forever. It’s too much. Every hallway, every room in this bloody house. He’s not sleeping, Sirius. You heard him last night, he was screaming again.”
“I know.” Sirius’s voice cracked a little. “I heard it too.”
“Your cousin won’t be cruel to them, right?” Remus asked after a moment of silence, worry evident in his voice.
Sirius laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “Dromeda is not a cruel woman.”
Remus raised his eyebrow. “But?”
“But. . .” Sirius hesitated. “She is a Black, and Blacks say hurtful things. We are known to be mad, so I cannot guarantee that she won’t be overly cautious the first few days. ”
Remus gave him a pointed look. “You say that like it’s something to be proud of.”
Sirius scoffed lightly. “It’s a curse. But she is the best of us. She broke away from this family first, never looked back once.”
“Still,” Remus pressed, “Draco is fragile. Callidora too.”
“She won’t harm him,” Sirius said, his voice firmer now. “Hurt, maybe, not harm. This is Andromeda Tonks, she’s the better choice.”
“If only I could send them to the Weasleys instead,” Remus pursed his lips. “Do you think he’ll hate us for it?”
“I think he already does,” Sirius said bitterly. “But if it means he gets out of here, I’ll take the hatred.”
Neither man noticed the shadow by the cracked door.
Draco stepped away soundlessly, retreating back down the hall with a hollow look in his eyes. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
They were tired of him. Of course they were. Even if Sirius and Lupin promised, everyone had a breaking point and Draco grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, he knew how to kick his blessings away. They didn't want to be burdened by his nightmares, or have to fret over touching him incase it triggered a panic attack.
He was tired. A small part of him was angry, but he knew he deserved this. This was payback for the days he spent bullying Potter and Weasley, for terrorizing Granger.
This was more than he ever deserved.
Notes:
Hello!
Thank you all for reading this work! I am so happy with the comments I received, truly, they mean a lot to me. I could not thank you all enough.
I loved writing Callidora, she's so precious and soft.
From here on out, it may continue raining. Prepare the saddles and stay ready. ;)
Chapter Text
Callidora was healing pretty well from her Pneumonia. Lupin had made a huge batch of potions for Draco to keep, in case of anything. It was relieving, seeing his sister’s eyebags disappear and the fat return to her cheeks.
However, things had only gotten awkward from that moment on. Days passed by and Draco refused to let Callidora spend too much time with Lupin and Sirius, much to her dismay. She whined and kicked about, stubbornly refusing to eat meals unless Draco let her near them.
Spoiled girl. It was his fault really, as he was never one to turn down any of her requests.
Lupin had brought up the conversation a day later, when it was just him with Draco and Callidora. Callidora had Poupée propped on a chair next to her.
“So,” Lupin began smoothly, nursing a cup of tea. He wanted to make them hot chocolate, but Draco refused, drawing a tantrum from Callidora. Now they all had to drink tea. “I recently spoke with Andromeda. You know her, right?”
Draco slowly looked up at him, gaze hard. “Mm.”
Callidora took a sip of her luke-warm tea and grinned. “Aunt Ando–meda,” she said proudly, struggling a bit with the syllables.
“Close,” Lupin offered a smile, though it was tense. “We’ve been thinking. . .” he cleared his throat. “We’ve been thinking of having you and Callidora stay with her for the time being.”
“I suppose Black was too afraid to have this conversation,” Draco said bitterly, refusing to refer to Sirius by his name. “So he set you up to it. Am I right, Professor?”
Lupin grimaced. “It’s not permanent, it’s only–”
“Until I get better,” Draco spat, glaring at him. “I know, Professor. You’ve made it rather clear.”
“Draco,” Lupin sighed and placed his cup of tea down on the table. “Trust me when I say, this is incredibly hard for me, but it is for your own good.”
“Sure.” Draco scoffed.
Callidora frowned lightly. “We’re leaving?”
Draco couldn’t help himself. His voice was flat, almost cruel in how it sounded. “Yes, we’re leaving. Seems Professor Lupin and Black got too tired of us.”
Callidora blinked, confused. “But–but,” she looked at Lupin, tears already beginning to form in her eyes. “I’m good girl.”
Draco forced a smile, the kind that didn’t touch his eyes. “That’s the problem, Dora. Sometimes it doesn’t matter.”
Lupin made a choked sound, sounding pained. “Draco, that’s not—”
“It’s fine,” Draco cut in, wanting to finish the conversation. “I understand. It’s been too much. The nightmares, the crying, me being a constant bloody mess—”
“Draco,” Lupin tried again, desperation growing in his features. Callidora whimpered at the growing tension.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” Draco said, standing up now. The cup of tea was jostled as he knocked his hip against the table. “You’ve done more than anyone else ever has. I won’t forget that.”
Callidora was clutching her doll in both hands, brows pinched. “But I like it here.”
Lupin’s mug hit the table a bit too loudly. “We were trying to help you. Not push you away.”
Draco looked up at him, unable to hide the pain in his eyes. The look of betrayal. “Then maybe next time, try talking to me instead of arranging where to ship us off like unwanted luggage.” He turned away before Lupin could respond, brushing a hand through Callidora’s curls. “Come Dora, let’s pack your bags. Just a little one. Only what you need.”
The little girl didn’t move. “Are we in trouble?”
Draco crouched beside her and cupped her cheek. “No, mon amour. We’re just not wanted here anymore.”
Lupin let out a shaky sigh. He frowned slightly, something he seemed to be doing more often those days. Draco wanted to bask in the pain that was apparent on the man’s face, but he couldn’t. His heart ached at the sight of his sadness and disappointment, but he told himself that it didn’t matter. They didn’t care about him any longer, so he would stop caring too.
Callidora shook her head and kicked her leg against her chair, already beginning to cry. “No!” she shouted. “Not leaving! Can’t make me!”
Lupin stood up as well, taking a slow step forward, voice gentle. “Callidora, sweetheart, no one is making you leave. We just thought—”
“We?” Draco repeated sharply. “We thought? We, as in you and Black, making decisions for us, you half-blooded freak?”
As soon as he said those words, Draco regretted it. Lupin froze for a moment, then his face crumpled, full of sorrow. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped.
Draco’s heart ached.
Callidora jerked her face away, little hands balled in fists. “Don’t want her! Want you!” she sobbed, flinging herself toward Draco.
Draco caught her with a soft grunt, hugging her close. Her tiny form trembled in his arms, and he glared over her shoulder at Remus, jaw clenched.
“I’m not trying to console you,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“By sending us away?” Draco spat. “You think Andromeda’s any better? She doesn’t even know us.”
“She’s family—”
“So are you!” Draco snapped, voice cracking.
Silence followed.
His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened as the words sank in. He hadn’t meant to speak those words, he wasn’t even aware he believed them before.
Because that was it, wasn’t it?
Maybe that was why everything hurt. Because Draco thought that he’d finally found a place to be comforted, to be kept by people who accepted him.
“Or at least, I thought—” Draco stopped short, biting down on his tongue. “I thought we were starting to matter.” He finished, barely audible.
But maybe he’d gotten it wrong again. Maybe he’d let his guard down just long enough to trick himself into believing there was room for them here. That little family belonged to Potter, not him.
Draco looked away, ashamed of how much hope had managed to grow in him.
Lupin looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “You do matter,” he whispered. “Merlin, Draco, you both do. This isn’t happening because we don’t want you.”
Draco should’ve known better.
“We’ll pack our things,” he said stiffly.
“Draco–”
“Shut it, Professor.”
Draco turned around, Callidora propped on his hip, and pointedly ignored the broken look on Lupin’s face.
=-=-=-=-=-=
This was why Lucius was persistent on maintaining close familial relationships amongst themselves, Draco thought numbly as he stood before Andromeda’s house. Draco had despised that for years growing up and used it as a leverage to blame when it came to his horrid manner with others, but maybe Lucius wasn’t just being unreasonable. He knew from the scraps of experience he gained in life that no one could be trusted. Everyone was a friend until it came time to protect their own safety or wellbeing. He knew that everyone around him was a snake one way or another, and couldn’t be relied on.
“Draco,” Callidora whined, pulling at his collar. “Aunt Bella.” she pointed at Andromeda, who stood stiffly at the door, lips pursed. She was dressed plainly but still, her clothes tugged at her body in an elegant way.
Draco could see why his sister thought that Andromeda was Bellatrix. If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the same. Andromeda and Bellatrix had an uncanny resemblance, though Andromeda had lighter hair and kinder eyes. It was creepy, almost as if they were standing face to face with a hexed version of Bellatrix.
“That’s Andromeda. They look alike because they are sisters,” Draco responded, offering a small smile. “Just like you and I.”
Callidora blinked slowly. “So... she not Aunt Bella?”
“Mm.”
Callidora pouted. “Maman not the same.” Her limited amount of vocabulary was amusing at times.
“Well, Mother was always more beautiful.” Draco said smugly, enjoying how Callidora laughed in pure joy.
Sirius cleared his throat at that. Draco rolled his eyes and turned to look at him.
“This is it,” Sirius said rather awkwardly. “I promise, Remus and I will stop by frequently, but we need to clear up a few things with the Order. Moody has been angry at us.”
Draco hummed. “Oh, well.”
"Don't leave the house without permission," Sirius continued. "I've heard that Death Eaters are searching for you, as well as member of the Order. We'll tell the Order about everything on our end and clear the situation up, but do not set a foot outside the house without explicit permission."
"I can handle myself." Draco rolled his eyes.
Lupin pursed his lips. “This is not goodbye forever,” He added softly. “I promise to send letters as well.”
Callidora nodded. “Letters from Siri and Uncle Moony!” she cheered happily. After a moment, as if she remembered something, she looked down, a hint of sadness on her face. “But Dora will miss you.”
Sirius couldn’t help but coo. “And I, you,” he patted her head. “Staying with your aunt is what’s best for you. Don’t do too many pranks while we’re gone, okay?”
Callidora giggled. “Okay!”
“Remember to take your potions everyday,” Lupin added. “You’re healing well, but it’s important to finish them.”
Draco glared at the men, hating that they were dragging things out to such extents. They wanted to get rid of them, so why were they trying to stick around and make him feel bad?
“You can leave now,” Draco said coldly. “The front door is before us.”
“You’ll be okay?” Lupin asked, lingering closely.
“Since when did you care?”
Sirius and Lupin exchanged a worried glance. “I’ve always cared, Draco. I always have and always will.” Lupin whispered.
“Don’t give Andromeda too much trouble.” Sirius said, gingerly reaching over to Draco’s shoulder.
Draco shrugged the elder man away. “I don’t need to be lectured by you.” He snapped.
Sirius glared at him and opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by Lupin. “That's okay,” he said quietly. “We’re only an owl away.”
“Sure, sure.” Draco waved them off and walked off, making his way to Andromeda who was waiting at the porch. He didn’t tell them goodbye, or how thankful he was for them, or how he would miss them. He pointedly ignored the stinging hurt in his heart. It was rushed farewell, it was unfair.
When they were close enough, Andromeda’s eyes swept over them, observing them. Draco felt exposed under her scrutiny, reminding him too much of Narcissa. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but then she sighed and swiftly moved to open the door.
“Welcome to my home.” Andromeda said, though her tone did not sound welcoming. Draco followed her inside, letting Callidora down so the girl could walk behind him. “I have clothes for both of you upstairs. They may not be your usual, but they’ll be clean and warm. The room upstairs at the end of the hall is yours.”
Draco nodded stiffly, unsure if he should thank her or keep his guard up. Callidora peeked around his legs, her thumb in her mouth.
Andromeda gave her a brief glance, then continued in the same calm tone, “There are some rules. We eat together unless someone is ill. My husband is a muggle, his name is Ted, and if you disrespect him, you’ll be out the next morning. No exceptions.”
Draco blinked. “Yes.” He heard Sirius and Lupin talking about Andromeda’s “rules”, as they called it, but he didn’t expect to be introduced to it so early.
Whatever, it was fine. It’s not like he wanted to speak with a muggle.
“I don’t tolerate cruelty in my home,” she added, voice cool. “I know where you come from, and I know what conversations go on in your home. I will not allow this to happen in my home, not in front of my husband or my daughter.”
Callidora gasped audibly, eyes going wide. “Daughter?”
Andromeda quirked a brow. “Yes. Her name is Nymphadora, though I call her Dora–”
“I’m Dora too!” Callidora exclaimed, bouncing slightly on her toes.
Andromeda couldn’t help but smile, the corners of her lips quirking upwards. “Yes, I have seen you before, Callidora–”
“Seen me?” Callidora interrupted again. Draco raised an eyebrow.
To his surprise, Andromeda did not seem annoyed. “Yes,” she cleared her throat and eyed Draco. “Your mother allowed me to see you when you were born. The same happened with your brother.”
“Mother never mentioned that to me.” Draco responded, almost in an accusing tone.
Andromeda shrugged. “Everyone has their secrets,” She looked at Callidora, gaze softening. “My daughter is older than you, and I am proud to say that she recently became an Auror.”
“Wow!” Callidora gasped. “Where is she?” The girl asked, peering down the hallway.
“She’s working,” Andromeda replied shortly. “You’ll meet her eventually. She’s fond of children.”
Callidora beamed, but Draco’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor. Fond of children. Right. Maybe she’d take Callidora the way Lupin had. Or maybe she’d be just like the rest of them, waiting for him to give them a reason to hate him.
Andromeda watched them both for a moment, then stepped aside. “There are many other rules, including daily chores. If you stay in my home, I expect you to carry your own weight.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I do not have my wand.”
“I believe you can manage without,” She sighed. “Again, your room is upstairs, the third door on the left at the end of the hallway. You can rest now and refresh. Dinner’s at seven.”
Draco had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at his aunt. Sirius and Lupin never made him do chores. In fact, they made him different meals everyday and would be annoyed with him if he wanted to help them cook or clean.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Right. I can’t cook, so if I commit arson in your kitchen, I expect no complaints.”
Andromeda did not respond or even spare him a glance. Draco sighed. That was a horrid welcoming.
Callidora tugged at Draco’s sleeve. “We stay?”
Draco nodded slowly. “We stay.”
=-=-=-=-=-=
Draco and Callidora had changed into what could only be described as ridiculous clothing. Draco stared at his reflection in the hallway mirror like he’d been hexed. The pants he was given fit perfectly, but the shirt was huge and hung off his shoulder, with the face of a random band on it. The socks he wore had cartoon ducks on them. Ducks. He looked ridiculous, in fact, he looked more ridiculous than Weasley, and that was saying something.
Callidora, on the other hand, was delighted. She twirled in a bright pink glittery dress and had a headband shaped like cat ears. If Narcissa saw her dressed in such bright and unpleasing colors, she would have a heart attack. Still, it suited her.
“This is insanity,” Draco muttered under his breath, tugging at his sleeves. “We look ridiculous.”
Callidora beamed up at him. “I look pretty!”
Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, you always look pretty, mon amour.”
She grinned and reached up to pull at his oversized shirt, squinting at the faded logo. “Who’s this?”
“I have no idea,” Draco said flatly. “But I’m fairly certain they made bad life choices.”
Callidora giggled, clearly enjoying his misery far too much for someone who could barely tie her shoes. “I like it. You look like a funny boy.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m devastatingly handsome, actually. And this,” he gestured to the band shirt and duck socks, “is an abomination. When you grow older and take a trip to France, you’ll understand true fashion.”
Callidora ignored him. “Ducks!” she squealed, pointing at his feet.
“Yes. Ducks. On my socks.” He scowled. “We should trade.”
“Pretty,” Callidora said in awe. She crouched down and reached out with her small hands to begin tracing the patterns.
“Dora,” Draco said hastily, just taking notice of the time. “Come now, we have to go down and eat dinner, yeah?”
Callidora stubbornly shook her head. “But ducks.”
He leaned down and picked her up, propping her on his hips. “Yes, ducks. You can have them after dinner.”
Even though she was pouting, Callidora gave him a nod. Draco smiled and moved to open the door. The hallway was dim and empty, so it gave them the time to walk slowly and appreciate their surroundings. Unlike the Malfoy manor, the Tonk’s residence was more. . .woody and earthy, more. . . lived in. It was obvious the residents of the house had taste, from the pictures hung on the wall to the ornaments on the tables to the very interesting patterns on the rugs.
Soon, Draco made his way downstairs, his feet padding against the wooden floor. He could hear light chatter in a distant room and decided to follow the sound. True enough, Andromeda was seated with a man on her side. The man, Ted Tonks, Draco assumed, turned to him and grinned.
“Hello there!” He boomed.
Draco stiffened. Merlin, he was wearing duck socks in front of a Muggle. “Good evening,” he replied stiffly.
Ted stood up, brushing crumbs from his sweater. He was wearing one of those horridly comfortable-looking jumpers with stripes that fit snugly around his large belly. “You must be Draco,” Ted said, walking over with a casual ease and extending his hand forward. Draco looked at it for a few seconds, hesitating, but then shook Ted’s hand.
Draco found himself avoiding touch after the encounter with Fenrir, but he did not want to ruin things for himself and his sister, it would be selfish. Ted’s hand was soft but too warm, and Draco found himself pulling back before the feeling of nausea could build up in his stomach.
Ted did not seem to mind. “And you must be Callidora.” He gave her a small wave.
Callidora smiled shyly and waved back.
Draco cleared his throat. “Thank you for having us.”
Andromeda gestured toward the seats around the dining area. “Sit and get comfortable.”
Draco shook his head. “These seats are too big for Dora,” he said. “She might fall off.”
Ted looked at the chair and then back at Draco. “No problem!” He exclaimed, and moved to grab Callidora. Draco frowned and tightened his grip around her.
“Oh, don’t worry. I was going to hold her and feed her while you eat.” Ted laughed, looking sheepish.
“I can do that.” Draco snapped and begrudgingly moved the chair and sat down. Callidora settled herself on his lap, looking at the food expectantly. Andromeda raised an eyebrow at Draco’s tone, clearly annoyed, but said nothing.
Ted simply chuckled and held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just offering.” he said.
Dinner was already laid out on the table. It was nothing too fancy, but still, the food seemed warm and fragrant. Everyone was served a bowl of soup alongside lamb stew and roasted potatoes. Draco would have preferred some carbs like rice or bread to go with the food, but he didn't say anything.
Callidora pointed to the bowl of soup. “Want.” she whispered, as if no one could hear her.
Draco nodded. He pulled the bowl closer, careful not to spill, and dipped the spoon in. The liquid shimmered faintly, it was red, obviously some kind of broth with tomato paste. He blew on it once, then twice, and turned slightly toward her.
“Open,” he said softly.
Callidora obeyed, lips parting in a practiced gesture. She was still learning not to bite the spoon. He let her take it and watched her mouth work slowly around the taste.
Her face scrunched, thoughtful. “Warm,” she mumbled after swallowing. “Tastes good.”
“Good warm or bad warm?” Draco asked, curious.
“Good.” She nodded, then leaned against his side. “Want more.”
“Of course,” Draco smiled fondly. He continued feeding her, blowing on the soup after each bite. It was clear that Callidora enjoyed the food, evident by how she was rocking her feet against the table.
Draco lightly nudged her ankle with his own. “Feet down, Dora,” he murmured. “Proper posture at the table. What would Mother say if she saw you like this?”
Callidora giggled, the sound muffled by the spoon he was holding to her lips. “Oops,” she said, drawing her feet back and sitting up straighter, her tiny back stiff with effort.
He gave a faint nod of approval and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “That’s better. No rocking and no slurping. And definitely no talking with your mouth full.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, not quite understanding but clearly trying.
“Good girl.” Draco said, dipping the spoon back into the soup.
Ted laughed lightly. “Merlin, that’s a mean load of rules,” He looked at Andromeda. “I could never live like that.”
Andromeda cleared her throat. “You should eat,” She told Draco. “I am sure that Callidora can feed herself.”
Draco ignored her and continued to feed his sister soup.
Ted gave a small, awkward chuckle as he leaned forward. “She’s got a point, kid. You haven’t touched your food, at least the both of you should eat some vegetables.”
Draco’s jaw tightened slightly. “I am not a kid.” He rolled his eyes.
Andromeda set down her fork with a light clink . “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” The shift in her tone made Draco stiffen. “You have to eat too. Sirius told me you never gave him a hard time following instructions, do not make me believe he was lying.”
“I don’t care whether you believe Sirius or not. In fact, I don’t care about Sirius.” Draco glared at her, and Andromeda glared right back. The both of them didn’t move for a few moments, just staring, gray eyes clashing with gray. Andromeda did not blink and nor did she move which made Draco realize he was fighting a losing game. He wasn’t one to give up, but still, he knew when to step back.
“Very well,” Draco grumbled, nudging the soup bowl aside. “I suppose I shall help myself to the lamb chops instead. They appear more palatable.”
Ted blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Blimey, that was a load of something. You sound just like Dromeda when she gets posh.”
“And I can feed your sister,” Andromeda pointedly added, ignoring her husband.
“No.”
“If you continue to argue with me, I will add a load of tasks to your chores.”
“She is serious when she says that,” Ted said solemnly. “It’s only for a few moments, and Dromeda has skills with children.”
“Because Dora.” Callidora nodded.
“Yes, my daughter, Dora,” Ted grinned. “Now, will you be a good girl and go sit in your aunt’s lap?”
Callidora immediately nodded. “Yes! Yes! ‘M good girl, Siri and Moony say so.”
“You’re always a good girl.” Draco muttered, pressing a kiss on Callidora’s forehead.
The little girl beamed and gently wriggled out of Draco’s hold, her tiny hands pressing against his chest for balance. Once on the floor, she took a moment to steady herself and then she wobbled over to Andromeda. Without a word, Callidora raised her arms, asking to be picked up.
Andromeda blinked in mild surprise, then softened. “Well, aren’t you forward?” she murmured, reaching down to lift the child into her lap with practiced ease.
Callidora settled in comfortably, letting her head rest against the older woman’s shoulder, one hand still curled near her mouth. “More soup?” she asked shyly, peeking up with wide eyes.
Andromeda chuckled and reached for the spoon. “Of course, but let’s have some lamb first, shall we?”
“Lamb,” Callidora nodded.
Draco did feel a little more. . .relieved in being able to eat without having Callidora in his arms. It felt foreign and made him feel guilty to see someone else care for his sister. Someone else was feeding his sister. Someone else was holding her. And he, Draco Malfoy, was sitting there with his ridiculous duck socks under the table, eating lamb chops. If it were any other day, he may have done something, but he was far too hungry.
He looked at the food. It looked good, but he has never tasted food as good as his parent’s or Dobby’s. To be frank, after Dobby was freed and Callidora was born, both Narcissa and Lucius took turns in cooking meals. They were made carefully and always tasted wonderful. The moment his fork touched the lamb chop and reached his mouth, his initial skepticism faded. The meat was tender, the flavors rich and perfectly seasoned–not too much. It was actually good. Draco chewed slowly at first, almost suspiciously, his brow furrowed as if the taste might betray him. But it didn’t, each bite was warm and hearty.
“Have you heard the tale of Rapunzel, Dora?” Ted suddenly asked, after he swallowed some roasted potatoes.
“Who’s Rapn–Rapunzel?” Callidora asked, frowning as Andromeda fed her a spoonful of lamb.
“Rapunzel was a girl with hair so long that she could use it as a rope to go from place to place. Her hair would glow when she sings, and her tears heal others. She used to live in a tower.”
Callidora gasped. “She lives in a tower? Why?”
“Because an old witch took her from her real parents,” Ted said dramatically. “She locked her away and told her the world was too dangerous. But, in reality, the witch wanted to keep Rapunzel’s hair for herself, to stay young.”
“But,” Callidora pouted. “Witches aren’t bad. Maman says I’m a witch. I’m good girl.” With time, Draco noticed, Callidora began to refer to her parent’s in a less formal manner. Draco thought it was because no one was lecturing her on maintaining aristocratic manners and found it rather refreshing–a child acting like a child.
Andromeda's sharp gaze found Draco’s, and they stared at each other for a few moments. She seemed to be challenging him to say something.
Draco sighed and put his spoon down. “There is good and bad everywhere, Dora.” He said, earning a surprised look from Ted. The man grinned and nudged his wife who simply nodded.
Callidora seemed to like the answer. “Like Siri said!”
“Yes.” Draco nodded stiffly.
“Do you know any muggle children?” Andromeda asked casually and offered Callidora a spoonful of soup.
The girl swallowed the liquid and shrugged. “I know children.”
Draco’s heart warmed at the innocent response. Andromeda seemed to appreciate her answer as well because she lightly patted Callidora’s head.
Ted looked wistful. “That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” he said, more to himself. “People being different, yet no one points out these differences until another takes notice of them.”
Draco did not say anything, only pursed his lips.
“Tell me! Rapunzel!” Callidora demanded, wanting to hear the rest of the story.
“Yes, yes,” The man nodded. “But then, a charming man, a bit like me, really,” he grinned and pointed to himself, earning a laugh from Callidora. “climbs into her tower and everything changes.”
Callidora gasped comically. “Stranger danger!”
“Yes, she was quite unwelcoming when she saw him.” Andromeda muttered.
Callidora squinted. “Does she hex him? For being bad.”
Andromeda blinked. “No, she hits him with a frying pan.”
“Oh no. . .”
“If this is a violent story, I would rather you do not tell her,” Draco said. “Dora is rather sensitive and gentle, she doesn’t like hearing those things.”
Ted chuckled, clearly amused by Draco’s protective nature. “Don’t worry, my boy, it’s a silly little tale. No bloodshed, I promise.”
Callidora looked between the adults, then settled on Draco with wide eyes. “Is she safe?”
Draco shifted slightly in his seat. “She’s perfectly fine, it’s all pretend, mon amour.”
Callidora nodded solemnly as if she were being told a sacred truth, then turned back toward Ted. “Tell again.”
Andromeda gave an exasperated sigh, but it was laced with fondness. She tucked a stray curl behind Callidora’s ear and offered her another spoonful. “Finish your soup and then Ted can finish the tale as a story for breakfast tomorrow, okay?”
Callidora’s mouth popped open obediently, and Draco watched for a moment, how her shoulders eased and the way her legs dangled off Andromeda’s lap and swung with carefree rhythm.
He hated how comforting it was.
His gaze slid across the table to Ted, who had begun telling another story, something about a frog and a princess. Andromeda’s lips twitched upward every now and then, her posture relaxing slightly in response to Callidora’s delighted giggles.
It wasn’t like the Malfoy dining table, where silence was a standard and the only sound was the clinking of utensils. It was warm here, the kind of warmth Draco never thought he’d welcome. He looked down at his plate, suddenly too full to eat more despite the food being good.
“Do you want dessert, little one?” Andromeda asked, interrupting Draco’s thoughts.
Callidora clapped her hands. “Yes! I want—” she paused, then turned to Draco, wide-eyed. “What’s dessert?”
Draco let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It’s a sweet treat you eat after meals.”
Callidora gasped. “Candy?”
Andromeda shook her head. “Not exactly, but close. Something warm, or cold. Pudding, perhaps.”
“Chocolate pudding?” Ted suggested cheerily. “With whipped cream?”
Draco raised a brow. “You’re spoiling her.”
Ted winked. “That’s what uncles are for.”
“Oh.” Draco's eyes widened. He didn’t expect Ted to call himself their uncle.
As Andromeda set about gathering the bowls, Draco stood and lifted Callidora gently from her lap, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck. She nestled against his shoulder with a yawn, eyes fluttering, seemingly exhausted and unwilling to wait for desert.
“You can begin your chores tomorrow,” Andromeda said as she gathered the forks and spoons. “I believe you and your sister need rest. I’ll give her pudding tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Ted nodded. He also stood up and began helping his wife by taking the bowls to the sink. It was odd that they manually washed them instead of using their wands. “I assume today was very emotionally taxing, leaving Remus and Sirius.”
“It was not an emotionally taxing day,” Draco spat, frowning. “I do not care enough to be. . .miserable about them.”
Andromeda shrugged. “No one claimed that you were miserable.”
Draco reddened at that, feeling very exposed. “Well,” he scoffed. “Dora and I will be heading to our rooms, where we will not be disturbed.”
He immediately turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, promptly ignoring the sound of Ted laughing. He quietly opened the door, careful not to jostle his sister. There was a small bed, similar to a cot next to Draco’s own bed, but he did not put Callidora there. Instead, he laid her on his own bed and lay besides her.
Callidora whined. “Want Poupée!”
Draco sighed. “Poupée needs to sleep by herself tonight,” he explained patiently. “The bed won’t fit her and she’s too sick.”
“She didn’t tell me that.”
“Poupée told me that before we went down for dinner.”
“Hm,” Callidora pouted and crossed her arms, jostling the blanket in the process. “Telling Maman on you. You are a bad liar.”
Draco couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. “Sorry, sorry.”
Callidora didn’t laugh and instead eyed him for a moment. “Can I touch you?”
Draco paused. That was odd. His sister never asked that before. “Of course you can, Dora. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged and held his hand close to her chest. “Siri and Uncle Moony ask you. So I wants to be nice and make you comfr–comfort–”
“Comfortable?” Draco offered.
“Yes! You don’t like touches without asking after bad man hurt you.”
He froze, breath caught in his throat. Draco blinked slowly, then looked down at their entwined hands, so small against his long fingers. “How do you know that?” he whispered, barely able to form the words.
Callidora’s brows furrowed. “Because you jump away when touches,” she said simply. “And when you sleep, you go ‘no, no, stop.”
Draco’s throat closed. He hadn’t realized how carefully she’d been watching him. All this time, he thought he was shielding her and successfully hiding his pain. But Callidora had noticed it all.
She was only three.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, barely audible. “I didn’t want you to know about all that.”
Callidora blinked at him. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not something little girls should think about,” Draco whispered. “I wanted to protect you from it.”
“But you’re my Draco,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m ‘posed to protect you, too.”
He almost laughed again—almost. But the sound got caught somewhere behind his ribs, and instead, he just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head
She smiled under his touch and whispered, “I can protect you with my Poupée. She’s brave.”
“I’m sure she is,” Draco said, his voice breaking a little despite himself. “But I think I feel safest with you.”
Callidora nodded solemnly, then scooted closer into his lap, her head resting against his chest.
“I love you Dora,” Draco said softly. “I will always love you, no matter what. Your older brother will always be here for you. Always.”
“Love you too Draco. Always.” Callidora yawned.
Draco watched her fall asleep against his chest. He looked out the window at the stars beyond the glass, and then down at Callidora. The silence was too much for him, and he reached out for his wand–but stopped when he realized he didn’t have it.
Rationally, Draco knew he was safe, but he still couldn't stop the light tremor in his hand and how his heart was beating rapidly. Even in the dark. It reminded him too much of Fenrir.
“What would Professor Lupin say?” Draco whispered to himself. “Fenrir is not here, there is nothing to be scared of.”
Even as he uttered those words, it did not help the tight feeling in his chest. His throat felt dry. There was a pressure behind his ribs that wouldn’t let up, pressing into his lungs with every breath.
Draco clenched his fists, fingers twitching.
“Sirius would tell me,” he breathed out, “ to name three things I can see.”
He looked down at Callidora. She was curled up like around him, peacefully sleeping.
“The blanket. Dora. The window in the room.”
Draco exhaled shakily. “Three things I can touch,” he murmured. “The sheets. Dora’s hand. My sleeve.”
Still, Draco’s heart wouldn’t slow. His mind screamed at him that something was off, that danger was coming. The darkness pressed too close.
“Three things I can hear,” he whispered, clutching his hand to his chest. “Her breathing. The wind. My heartbeat. I’m not there,” he said, almost pleading now. “I’m not in the Manor. I’m not with him.”
He turned onto his side, careful not to jostle Callidora, burying his face into the crook of his elbow. His body trembled despite every grounding exercise Sirius and Remus had taught him.
“I’m okay,” Draco whispered. “I’m okay. I have to be.”
His eyes stung, but he held them shut, waiting for sleep to take him. Draco just laid there in the dark, reciting Sirius’s voice in his head like a spell.
=-=-=-=-=-=
Callidora grew cross as the days went by. She refused to help Draco clean up or set the table, and would throw a fit when it was time to sleep or take her potions. Nothing Draco would do or say seemed to appease her, and she only settled in Andromeda’s arms.
Now, she clung onto Draco’s legs, crying as he washed the dishes. If he bent to pick her up, she would scream more.
“Dora,” he sighed, running the water over the last plate in the sink. “Can you tell me why you’re crying?”
“No!”
“Why?”
“B-because!” she tightened her grip around Draco. “I can but I don’t want to.”
Draco closed the faucet and bent down, his face appearing between his knees. Callidora pouted and glared at him. “Smart,” he said. “May you tell me why you’re crying?”
Callidora’s lip wobbled, her little nose scrunching up. “Miss them.” she sniffled.
Draco’s chest tightened. He didn’t have to ask who. “You miss Sirius and Professor Lupin.” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
She nodded miserably. “Want Uncle Moony. Want Siri.”
“I know, Dora.” Draco whispered. He didn’t say that he missed them, even if he did. They didn’t deserve it.
Callidora wailed again, pushing at his knees and almost causing him to fall. “Then why we here? Why? You said— You said they love us!”
“They do love you,” Draco murmured. “They do, Dora. This isn’t because—”
“Then I want to go home!” she shrieked. “And want Maman too! Want want want want!” Callidora stood up and stomped her foot.
“Callidora Malfoy,” A sharp voice–Andromeda–called out. Both Draco and Callidora turned. “You are being rude, you don’t get to scream at your brother when you’re upset. Do you understand?”
Callidora sniffled and buried her face into Draco’s knees again, grumbling something incoherent.
Andromeda sighed. “I know you’re a clever girl. I know you are scared and have big emotions right now. But this is your home now.”
“Nooo.” Callidora shook her head.
“Yes,” Andromeda said firmly. “It is. This home may not look like the one you remember, but it’s where you are safe.”
Callidora let out a frustrated wail and stomped again, her little fists pounding against Draco’s knees. “Don’t want new home! Want old one! Want Maman and Siri and Uncle Moony and want my bed! Want–want– everything! ”
Draco’s throat closed. He reached for her, tried to scoop her up, but she slapped at his arm and spun away, shrieking.
Andromeda stepped forward. “Callidora.” Her tone remained even, but this time there was a hint of disappointment. “You will not take that anger out on Draco. You are not allowed to hurt people who love you because you are hurting. Am I clear?”
Callidora didn’t answer.
“Callidora Malfoy, did I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Callidora whispered. She rubbed her snotty face against her sleeve. “Sorry, Draco.”
“It’s okay, Dora.”
Andromeda watched the pair for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “Come, Callidora,” she said as she extended her arms. “Let us settle down.”
Draco's head snapped up."She's my sister, I can settle her!" He did not need someone else to do that. No one knew Callidora like he did.
"Draco, I'm afraid that I wasn't asking a question."
"I don't care."
"Draco." Andromeda gave him a look that left no room for argument. “I can take it from here,” she added. “You go and see what chores need to be done.”
Draco hesitated, glancing at Callidora, who had let go of his robes and slowly walked towards Andromeda. After a moment, with quiet coaxing and Andromeda’s steady arms, she allowed her aunt to carry her.
Draco stood up from his bent position, brushing off his knees. His hands still felt cold.
He wandered down the hallway, the floors creaking underfoot, until he reached the lounge–the sitting room as Andromeda had corrected him once. The fire was low in the fire place, flickering and casting shadows across the furniture. Ted Tonks was already there, sprawled on a lumpy old armchair with a cup of tea in one hand and a folded letter in the other.
He looked up as Draco entered. “Rough day, huh?”
Draco didn’t answer.
Ted tilted his head, then held up an envelope. “Letter came by owl about an hour ago from Sirius Black.”
Draco stopped in the middle of the room. His hands clenched into fists.
“I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ted added lightly. “I know better than to go poking around in someone else’s mail. But if you want it—”
“Burn it,” Draco snapped.
Ted blinked.
Draco’s voice rose, sharp and cold like a cracked window. “Burn it. I don’t want to see anything from him.”
Ted set the letter down on the coffee table slowly, carefully. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Draco’s jaw was tight. “He left us. Dora keeps crying and it’s all his fault. I won’t open anything from him. I won’t let Dora see anything from him either.”
“He did not abandon you.”
“Oh really?” Draco scoffed. “Pray tell, what is it called when one is passed off to someone else because no one wants to deal with them anymore?”
Ted shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at his mouth. “You know, Sirius never really stopped talking to Narcissa. Not properly, at least. That family had a load of pride,” He laughed under his breath. “When you were born, Andromeda told me that Sirius actually snuck over one night to see you. You were swaddled in an ancient cloth belonging to the Malfoys, practically glowing with that hair of yours. He just turned up at her doorstep, barely said two words, but he wanted her to see you. It was tense, given that his brother Regulus had died less than a year ago, but they greeted each other. Narcissa made him tea and he even stayed for a bit. That’s family, even when it’s complicated.”
Draco’s throat burned. “So?” he snapped. “What am I supposed to take from that? That he shows up when he feels like it and disappears when things get uncomfortable?”
Ted exhaled through his nose and leaned back, looking at the fire. “I’m just saying, maybe there’s more going on than you realize. Sirius, well, he’s not always good with words. He and Remus are trying to figure things out. Maybe they thought you'd be safer with us.”
“Safer,” Draco repeated bitterly. “Right. Because chucking us into a stranger’s home and vanishing without a word is just brilliant communication.”
“Andromeda is your aunt and not a stranger, but yes, I understand that you’re angry. You have every right to be,” Ted said gently. “But sometimes, people mess up trying to protect the ones they love. Don’t be hard on them.”
“This is fucking insane.”
"There's a lot to the situation that you misunderstood, all three of you," Ted smiled faintly, gaze still on the flames. “You don’t have to read the letter. Just, don’t burn it yet.”
Draco didn’t answer. He walked past the coffee table, but not before glancing once at the envelope with Sirius Black’s messy handwriting on it. His name and Lupin’s, written as Padfoot and Uncle Moony.
Uncle , Draco rolled his eyes.
He didn’t pick it up.
Notes:
I wanna say, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND COMMENTING! I appreciate it so much, this means so much to me. I love you all :3
Miscommunication, miscommunication is all I am going to say.
Chapter Text
To say that Sirius was nervous would be an understatement. Ever since Draco and Callidora left, he had been brewing with anxiety. His days were spent laying around in Grimmauld Place and occasionally sending letters to Harry. Remus tried to soothe him and ease his worries, but it never worked.
“Dora would have loved this,” Sirius sniffed. “Hot chocolate with marshmallows.”
Remus eyed him carefully. “I heard that you sent them an Owl a few days ago. Any response?”
Sirius shook his head, glaring at his cup of hot chocolate. “No, I didn’t receive anything back. Ted told me to take it slow for now.”
“I understand,” Remus said softly, a hint of sadness seeping into his tone. “We did send them away after all.”
Sirius glared at Remus. “No Moony, we did not. This is for their own good.”
“How?” Remus asked. “You know it’s not.”
“It is!”
Remus sighed still rather calmly. He looked at Sirius. “In the eyes of a teenager, it’s not.”
Sirius didn’t respond right away. He sank further into his chair, jaw tight,, the hot chocolate splashing on his hand. “I didn’t want them to think we were abandoning them,” he muttered, more to himself than to Remus. “I–he was having nightmares every night and couldn’t sleep unless someone was in the room with him. You saw it. The boggart, he thought it was real.”
“And you thought that the best solution was to send him away?” Remus repeated.
Sirius glared at him. “Would you rather I keep him here, so he’d be reminded of the boggart with every step he takes? This house is cursed and it was hurting him.”
Remus hesitated, clearly torn. He looked away, jaw working. “I suppose I understand your point of view,” he said finally. “But I still think you should have asked him. Given him a choice. He probably thinks…” He paused, as if the thought pained him. “He probably thinks you grew tired of him. Or that he was a burden.”
Sirius’s expression darkened, brows drawing together. “He’s smart,” he said, a little too quickly, as if trying to convince himself. “Smarter than I ever was at that age. He must know I’m doing everything I can to protect him.”
Remus raised a brow. “Being smart doesn’t mean you don’t feel unwanted.”
“I’m doing everything I can to protect him.” Sirius said seriously, growing agitated. “If Harry faced a boggart in this house and couldn’t sleep a night without experiencing nightmares, would you keep him here?”
“No,” Remus said softly.
Sirius turned toward him, almost desperate now. “Exactly. So why is it different for him? Why does it feel like I did the wrong thing when all I’ve been trying to do is keep him safe ?”
“Because you didn’t tell him,” Remus replied gently. “You decided for him. And for someone who already doesn’t feel like he has much of a say in his life, that can be just as frightening as the boggart itself.”
“I’ll make it up,” Sirius bit his lips. “I’ll find his mother–”
“No. We have to tell Moody first,” Remus interrupted. “The Order has to be informed.”
Sirius’s eyes widened. “No–”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Remus continued, ignoring the other’s refusal. “You know that we can’t keep quiet about this, especially since Draco and Callidora are staying with the Tonks.”
“They won’t say anything.”
“I know,” Remus said, quieter now, but no less resolute. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
Sirius pursed his lips, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to tell the Order about the dilemma at hand, knowing that some of them may react unkindly as he did in the beginning.
“You know Draco is fragile right now,” Sirius said, wanting Remus to see reason. “Letting the Order know and interrogate him is the last thing he needs.”
“They won’t interrogate him,” Remus shook his head. “Not if we’re honest with them from the start. Transparency will make it easier for everyone. And if you knew he was fragile, Sirius, then you shouldn’t have sent him away without discussing it with anyone .”
Sirius flinched slightly at the reprimand. He sat back in his chair, arms now folded defensively over his chest. “So this is all my fault now?” he muttered, more bitter than he meant to sound.
“No,” Remus said quickly, but with exasperation in his tone. “It’s not about blame. It’s about what’s next, and that is telling the Order. You can start by telling Harry, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Sirius frowned. “I doubt that Draco would want his business to be aired out like dirty laundry, yah?”
“Should have thought of that before you sent him off, yah?” Remus finally snapped, his patience wearing thin. He stood up and glared at Sirius before walking out of the room, leaving his cup on the table.
Sirius sat motionless for a long moment, staring at the empty chair across from him. The teacup Remus had abandoned sat on the edge of the table, half-full, still steaming faintly.
He exhaled heavily through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “And he leaves me to do the dishes,” Sirius muttered under his breath. “Great.”
—----
Seeing Harry, no matter how brief, was always a blessing. Sirius always looked forward to their meetings, the moments making him feel as if he had something else beyond the war.
The moment he spotted Harry stepping into the dim room, Sirius felt the corners of his mouth lift in a way they hadn’t in days. Harry had grown taller since the summer, shoulders filling out and hair only getting messier. It was as if he were staring at James’ lopsided grin, only it was Lily’s eyes.
“Harry,” Sirius greeted warmly, pushing himself up from his chair. He resisted the urge to pull Harry into a full embrace straightaway; and instead, Sirius settled for clapping him on the shoulder, fingers curling briefly before letting go.
“Sirius,” Harry said, managing a small smile. “Lupin said you wanted to talk while he discusses something with Moody?”
Sirius shot a quick glance toward the door, making sure no one else lingered nearby. He motioned for Harry to sit, and once the boy was settled across from him, Sirius leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees.
“I did. It’s about something important.”
Harry’s brows drew together in mild suspicion. “Is it about the Order?”
“Not really?” Sirius hesitated, searching for the right place to begin. He thought of Remus’s words and his own mistakes and knew he had to tell the truth. “I need to tell you about two people that Remus and I helped. Right now, they're staying with the Tonks,” Sirius said finally. “They’re people I didn’t tell the Order about right away.”
Harry tilted his head. “Why not?”
“Because I knew some of them wouldn’t take kindly to the idea. I wasn’t sure you would, either.” Sirius’s voice was quieter now.
Harry blinked. “The only person I wouldn’t take kindly to is Malfoy.”
One corner of Sirius’s mouth twitched. “Well,” He cleared his throat. “It is Draco. And his little sister.”
Harry’s eyes widened in shock. “…Malfoy’s got a sister ?”
“Yes.” Sirius leaned back “And before you start, no, she’s not like him, at least, not entirely. I think you might actually—”
“Wait, Malfoy’s got a sister?! ” Harry repeated, louder this time, like saying it again might make it make sense. “Lucius and Narcissa still shag?”
Sirius wrinkled his nose in disgust, not expecting Harry’s reaction to completely miss the point. “I’d rather not discuss my cousin’s love life, but yes. She was born when you were in the third year at Hogwarts.”
Harry shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the information. “This is mental.”
“Well,” Sirius said dryly. “As I was saying, Remus and I found Draco and his sister and took them in. I thought it’d be safer to keep them with the Tonks.”
Harry frowned, his voice rose before he even realized it, sharp with disbelief. “You didn’t think to tell me before?”
Sirius blinked, taken off by the sudden shift in Harry’s mood. “There wasn’t a good time to do so,” he began carefully. “And I didn’t want to break his trust.”
“His trust ?” The way Harry repeated the words made them sound almost ridiculous. His arms snapped across his chest, and he shifted in his chair, his heel tapping against the wooden floor with urgency. “Malfoy is a git that worships Voldemort. His father as well, you know this!”
“I’m aware,” Sirius said evenly, his voice calm in a way that seemed to frustrate Harry further. He didn’t blame him for the outburst, Merlin knew he’d had the same reaction, maybe worse, when Remus first brought it up.
“Then why?” Harry demanded, throwing his hands out. “Why would you bring him anywhere near people we care about? What if he’s just trying to gain your pity so he can spy on us?”
“Harry,” Sirius sighed, “it’s not like that. You weren’t there, you didn’t see him–”
“No, I mean it!” Harry said, the words tumbling out now. “You don’t get it, this is Malfoy we’re talking about! I’ve spent years watching him. I’ve been there since the beginning! He’s a cowardly, spiteful prat who’s made it his thing to insult my friends, especially Hermione, every chance he gets! Malfoy hates muggles. He practically kissed Umbridge's boot, how am I supposed to believe he’s suddenly not like that anymore?”
Sirius let him finish, waiting for the wave to pass, yet Harry’s glare stayed fixed, staring at Sirius as if he personally betrayed him. He sighed. "You're right to be wary. I’m not saying he’s suddenly become some angel. But sometimes people surprise you, and you don’t get to pick who ends up in your corner."
Harry’s eyes burned with stubborn disbelief. "Malfoy’s not the kind of person who changes. He hurt me.”
There it was.
Sirius’s eyes widened. Harry wasn’t angry without reason, it was because he saw the sudden acceptance of Draco by Sirius himself as a personal betrayal, because Draco had hurt Harry.
It was about him .
Sirius, the only adult Harry counted on to be on his side without question, was offering Draco Malfoy–a boy who had mocked his friends and aligned himself with everything Harry despised—shelter. In Harry’s mind, that wasn’t generosity. That was choosing Draco over him.
Sirius leaned back slightly, his throat tight. He remembered how protective he’d felt the first time he’d met Harry, that hot, hollow ache in the chest knowing just how much the boy had suffered.
Merlin, he should have seen it sooner. To another adult’s mind, it could have been harmless banter in their youth, but Harry still had a grudge. Sirius knew, because in his own youth, he’d seen that with James and Severus.
The memory remained fresh in his memory, James beside him in the courtyard, laughter in their throats as they goaded Severus into drawing his wand, accompanied with the reckless certainty that they were the heroes of their own story. Sirius had never stopped to think about what it felt like on the other side, not then. The idea that his games had been cruel had only hit him years later, when there was nothing he could do to take them back. Back then, it had been so easy to justify: Severus was a Slytherin, a future Death Eater, and dangerous by nature. He had already been spewing hateful words to muggles, hanging around with Death Eaters, and it had been the last straw when he hurt Lily. Humiliating him had felt like a kind of preemptive justice.
Granted, James took it upon himself to correct past wrongs and saved Severus, but it was still something horrible that happened.
Now, looking at Harry, Sirius wondered if that was exactly how Harry saw Draco. Not just an enemy by circumstance, but a boy who had chosen his side early, and just like Severus did, engaged in Death Eater ideals. He was someone who had caused real hurt, no matter how young he had been or small the action may have seemed.
Sirius thought of how he would have felt if someone he trusted, like James, had suddenly taken Severus in, defended him, and told him to “give him a chance.”
The idea turned his stomach.
“Harry,” Sirius began, his voice quieter now. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to bridge the space between them. “I know you’ve got every reason to hate him. I’m not here to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling that way, Merlin knows I’ve held onto grudges for far less.”
Harry didn’t answer, but his glare softened just enough to let Sirius know he was listening.
“I’m not saying Draco hasn’t been cruel. I’m not even saying you should forgive him. But. . .” Sirius hesitated, searching for the right words. “The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters, remember? There’s good and bad in everyone, and sometimes people choose to act on the light inside them.”
Harry’s brow furrowed, disbelief still etched into his features. “So you think Malfoy’s good now?”
“I think,” Sirius said slowly, “that he’s in a place where he’s got no one left. And sometimes, that’s the only thing that makes a person start looking for a different way forward.” He gave a small, humorless smile. "I know what it’s like to have someone give you a chance even when you don't deserve it.”
Harry’s eyes searched Sirius’s face, as if trying to find the catch.
“I’m not asking you to like him,” Sirius added. “Draco went through something traumatizing, just to protect his sister. I know it seems hard to believe, but he’s just a child.”
Harry’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. He leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed. His voice was low but edged with that stubborn note Sirius knew so well. “He wasn’t just a child when he hexed me in the back, or when he called Hermione—” Harry broke off, jaw tightening. “He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“I’m not excusing what he’s done,” Sirius said, the firmness returning to his tone. “And I promise you, I’m not blind to who he’s been. People like him are my family, I know them better than anyone else.”
Harry frowned, glancing away, his fingers tightening around his own arms.
“But,” Sirius continued, “you don’t get to choose the family you’re born into. You can choose not to be like them. And from what I’ve seen, Draco’s trying. If for nothing else, then for his sister.”
“. . .What’s her name anyways?” Harry asked, playing with the hem of his sleeves.
Sirius’s shoulders relaxed, grateful for the change in subject. “Callidora,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But she prefers to be called Dora.”
Harry blinked. “That’s—actually not as bad as I expected.”
Sirius barked a laugh. “You clearly haven’t read through the Black family tree. We’ve got a Cygnus, a Pollux, and a Phineas. They’ve a thing for Astronomy."
Harry smirked. “And the Malfoys?”
Sirius’s mouth curled into a crooked grin. “The Malfoys,” he began, “like to name their children after an ancient ancestor to make sure everyone knows they’ve been around for hundreds of years. They’ve got this habit of digging through dusty old family records until they find some pompous-sounding name to use for their baby.”
Harry raised his brows. “So… Callidora’s name was based on an ancestor from the Malfoys?”
“Well no,” Sirius tilted his head. “Cissy grew up with the Black family traditions, which, as you know, consists of naming children after stars and constellations.”
Harry nodded. “It sounds exhausting.”
“Oh, it is,” Sirius said, grinning. “But Narcissa always did like her family’s way of doing things, and Lucius, well. . . he doesn’t refuse her much. She named both Draco and Callidora. Draco was based off a constellation and Callidora is named after our great cousin. Callidora's sister actually married into the Weasleys, got her name blasted off the tapestry."
“So Ron is related to Malfoy.” Harry wrinkled his nose.
Sirius laughed, shaking his head. “In a way, all purebloods are related.”
There was a pause, and it was silent again. Sirius leaned back, eyes flicking toward Harry. “So. . .are you fine with this?”
Harry’s lips twitched as if he was about to argue, then sighed and said, “I trust you.”
A breath of relief.
“Thank you.”
Notes:
This is just a filler chapter. I've been so busy at work and family, it's insane. I haven't even had the time to make an appointment for myself ;/
So, I apologize for posting such a short chapter after such a long wait, but please bear with me! I will make it up!
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