"We're each of us alone, to be sure.

What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?"

— Ursula K. Le Guin

Hermione gasped as she was spat out of the pensieve and gripped the edges of the basin for balance. A firm hand on her lower back steadied her but it was gone before she could properly register her surroundings. Looking up, she was met with Draco's guarded face. He looked at her with a kind of expectancy, as if waiting for her to react, to recoil.

Hermione blinked back tears, feeling overwhelmed at what she just witnessed. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"I — " she began.

"Let's get on to the last one shall we?" Draco said quietly, face shuttering as he avoided her gaze and switched out the memory for the last one. Before she could muster a word, he dipped into the pensieve.

***

15 Months After the Battle of Hogwarts

"It's a boy," Narcissa breathed, swaddling the wailing child while the midwife gave Astoria a blood replenishing potion. Draco stood stoic and silent on the other side of the room, briefly catching a glimpse of sparse white-blond hair in the watery mid-morning light. "Do you want to hold him?"

Astoria's eyes fluttered shut as the baby let out another cry. "No," she responded weakly.

Narcissa looked at her sadly after a pause and held the child closer. "We'll get him cleaned up then," she said gently then left with the midwife.

"Draco?" Astoria called out, breaking him out of his stupor. He neared her bedside and finally looked at her. She looked even more sickly than he last saw her. Her cheeks were hollow, a grayish hue to her skin. But there was a certain peace to her now in her quiet repose, and drooping eyes.

"I'm here," he said, when her eyes remained unfocused.

She smiled softly, eyes finally focusing on him. "We knew this was coming, Draco," she sighed. "I thought when the moment came I would feel the fear I'm supposed to, but I don't. I just feel tired."

Her face took on a dreamy expression, her eyes unseeing again.

"It's a little selfish isn't it?" she chuckled lightly, which turned into a violent cough. He came closer, helping her take another potion to smoothen out her breathing. But they both knew, there was nothing they could do to prevent the inevitable.

Draco's fist curled around the potion bottle, the cold weight of it between his palms. "No, I don't think it's selfish."

Suddenly, she grabbed his sleeve, her frail fingers fisting into the material. Her eyes were hesitant, something that looked like guilt in it. "I — I'm not ready to be a mother. Even if I survived I wouldn't know how else to be a mother other than how I've been raised. I wouldn't want that for our son." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears at the sudden confession "Your mother said that mothers are supposed to feel a bond with their child. But I – I can't. I don't. I couldn't feel anything during the pregnancy, and now I still don't feel anything but relief that it's over. Does that make me a monster, Draco?"

Astoria searched his eyes as if she could find the answer in them. This was his fault. His fucking fault. She could have had more time. He could have gotten Raul out. He could have done something to get them out. Maybe then she could have had a future that she would want to fight harder to live for, a family with the man she loved and a child that she wanted.

He did not blame her for her relief. Neither could he blame her for not feeling ready. He felt the same.

"No it doesn't," he said firmly. "Especially after how — after I — "

"Stop." She smiled ruefully at him. "You're a good man, Draco. I hold nothing against you for what happened. You are a victim in this war too."

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her breathing labored.

Draco looked away. He did not know what to say or do, could only watch.

Promise me you'll take care of her.

"Astoria, I — "

"Let our son know that I do love him even if it's in the only way a mother can when she is young and unprepared. Even if I lived, I don't think I could have cared for him the way he deserved or raised him other than the way a pureblood parent would have. Do better for him, Draco," she said desperately, "I will always be grateful for everything you've done for me. And Raul. I know you'll do what's right. There's more kindness in you than you let yourself believe."

Astoria searched his eyes until seeming to find what she was looking for then relaxed.

"I'm ready to join Raul now," she whispered, letting go of his sleeve. "Is it selfish of me to feel relieved that I'll be gone? But I think you and I get to be selfish after everything we've been through, don't you think?"

Moments later her eyelids fluttered shut, her expression turning serene. A soft smile graced her lips giving off the impression that she had finally decided to let herself follow a voice that had been beckoning to her for so long. She let out a final breath and went slack. Draco's eyes screwed shut for a moment, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

Finally, he opened his eyes again, looking at Astoria's face one more time. There was a lightness to it now — peace.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Outside, storm clouds darkened and thickened along the horizon. The room was quiet, nothing but the steady smell of incense burning in the still, stale air. With steady fingers, he took his Malfoy ring off, placing it on the bedside before leaving the room.

***

Draco shot up from his bed as a crying shriek pierced through the hallways. Something inside him twisted as another wave sounded.

When the crying did not stop, he found himself getting out of bed, unable to ignore the cries any longer.

It had been three months since Astoria died. Scorpius proved to be more and more difficult; he cried and didn't like being held by anyone but Narcissa, not even the nurse or the house-elves. Draco had been too afraid to touch him, always finding an excuse when his mother tried to hand him over. His mother had usually been the one to attend to Scorpius but she hadn't been feeling well lately. Draco couldn't bring himself to wake her.

His hands hesitated as he opened the door to the nursery, the cries sounding louder. Moonlight trickled in from the window, catching on his son's blond head as he thrashed in his crib. Slowly, he approached the crying baby, unable to look away from his tiny face, screwed tightly with tears running down his red cheeks.

Apprehensively, Draco ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to do — he had never held a child, especially one so small. Scorpius let out another pained cry, more harsh than the last and Draco reached out instinctively. Suddenly, the crying subsided as a tiny hand wrapped around his finger. The infant stared at him curiously, large silver eyes shimmering with tears. Draco held a breath as the boy clutched his finger tighter.

Over the months, he did not deny that he had been avoiding his son. He kept himself busy, telling himself it was better to let his mother handle it. Narcissa took on the role without any questions, choosing to not say anything despite the worried line of her brow whenever he excused himself from their presence and her unsubtle attempts to get him interested in his son's progress. Draco chose to watch from a distance, such as when his mother spoke to Scorpius about their families and brought him to her rose gardens on warm afternoons. Unlike him, his mother knew how to raise a son, how to care for one. He told himself it was better this way.

"You can hold him, you know." Draco startled, accidentally pulling his finger away, causing the child to cry again.

Narcissa stood in the doorway, a tired but amused expression on her face. She saw the panic in Draco's eyes and her lips twisted upwards. Brushing passed him, she picked Scorpius up and before he could back away, placed him in his arms.

He was so tiny and fragile, Draco thought he might break. But Scorpius remained calm in his arms, staring at Draco with wide-eyes.

"He knows you," Narcissa's voice floated over the space but it sounded distant as Scorpius snuggled closer to his chest. Scorpius blinked slowly, leaning into his touch when he tentatively brushed a finger down his wet cheek. Draco remained still, afraid to move when Scorpius yawned before his eyelids drooped shut.

In that moment, in the quiet stillness of his son gently curled in his arms, something took root inside of him. He didn't know what it was, but upon seeing his dark mark pressed starkly against the child he held, this thing unfurled and latched itself within him. For the first time in the war, he felt something, perhaps that something he had witnessed many fight for, die and live for. He still did not understand it, could not grasp it nor give it a name.

It was terrifying. When you have lived so long behind the walls you built to protect yourself, when it was all you knew, you forgot what lived beyond it. And yet it seemed that life could still surprise him, could be kind sometimes, even to those who didn't deserve it.

At last the word came to him. It was just a pulse of it, but it was still there. It was hope.

***

Time passed quickly as Draco continued rising in the Dark Lord's favor. In the blink of an eye, Scorpius was a year old. As Scorpius grew, every day Draco waited with a kind of foreboding for the day Scorpius would come to know the world and his father better, when he no longer looked at him with the innocence of a child who did not fear giving their love so freely and easily. And yet, Scorpius remained a bright-eyed curious boy who had a partiality for sweets, a compassion for all animals and creatures big and small, and a kindness for all things. Draco did not understand it.

Sometimes, he would catch Narcissa talking to Scorpius and taking him to Astoria's portrait. In those moments, he found it difficult joining them, guilt twisting in his stomach. He never truly knew Scorpius' mother. He had been selfish when Astoria was alive, having never taken the time to genuinely know her due to his incessant focus on playing the role the Dark Lord had given him. But there was another reason he could not look at her portrait. Sometimes when he did, he was taken to that night, the sick feeling of violating her and being violated himself slipping from his occlumency walls in full force. He still had nightmares and knew that one day when Scorpius asked about his mother, he would not know what to say, would not even be able to do her justice without admitting what he had done, how he could have saved her, taken care of her better, or how he couldn't even be a friend to her when she obviously needed it.

"Hi, daddy." Draco startled at the quiet whisper, looking up from his study to find a pair of wide silver eyes staring at him beyond his desk. Scorpius blinked at him shyly and before he could respond, Narcissa and Tippie burst into the study.

"Oh thank goodness, Scorpius you're alright," Narcissa breathed, hand on her chest. Tippie looked as if she would faint. Draco stood. "This little boy ran off while we weren't looking."

"Did he now?" Draco replied, amusement in his voice as he observed the boy innocently staring at his feet. He knelt before him. "And what do you have behind your back?" he asked gently.

Scorpius' cheeks reddened as he glanced at him then Narcissa.

"Go on," Narcissa said encouragingly.

Mustering resolve, Scorpius handed over a piece of paper. Draco took it, examining two smiling faces and a mess of colors.

"Das daddy and me," Scorpius said hesitantly, pointing at the figures and monitoring Draco's reaction.

Draco swallowed and blinked at the boy who looked at him hopefully. "I love it."

Scorpius instantly grinned, and, feeling more encouraged, slid closer to him in between his arms.

"I'll grab some biscuits," Narcissa said, smiling softly at them with glassy eyes. "Come, Tippie."

"Yes, Mistress," Tippie said, sniffing into her handkerchief as she watched two blond heads, both cautious, lean closer together.

***

"And you're sure of this?" The Dark Lord's voice coiled through the cavernous space as he remained staring at the green flames floating before him with his hands behind his back. No heat came from the dancing green gas-like substance as if it was meant to suck the very warmth from around it instead.

"Yes, my lord," Draco answered from his kneeling position, looking from under his lashes. Over the last few months, Draco had been tasked with investigating the bodies of Death Eaters who had been found with their Dark Marks mangled. "It was clear that there was an attempt to carve out the mark on Cadamus Selwyn's skin, but the magic killed him before he was successful. We're keeping tabs on some more Death Eaters that we believe are trying to do the same."

"Well done, Draco," his aunt cooed, dragging a sharp nail down his cheek before she walked passed. Draco suppressed a flinch. "Let me go after them my lord," she whispered, her pale boney hands caressing the Dark Lord's arm. Draco noted the action.

"No," he said in that voice that once belonged to his old rival. He turned his attention towards Draco. "I'd like to pay the Selwyns a visit myself and set an example of what happens when you betray the Dark Lord."

"Rise," the Dark Lord commanded. Draco did as he was told, still keeping his eyes down. "You've done well, Draco. And the prisoners who ended up dead before we could extract more information — I trust you punished the guards that handled them?"

"Yes, my lord."

When the Dark Lord nodded dismissively and said nothing more, Draco prepared to leave.

"Your son." Draco stilled, his hand twitching towards his wand, "A healthy boy I heard. Scorpius, is it? Almost a year and a half?"

"Yes," Draco replied carefully. There was an underlying hunger in the Dark Lord's face, a predatory excitement that only confirmed the rumors that had been circling around in hushed tones.

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

***

The smell of fumes and charred flesh invaded Draco's senses through his silver mask. He watched the destruction around him. Black-robed Death Eaters under his command spread out, wreaking havoc on the small town.

"Over there!"

Draco turned towards the direction the Death Eater called out where three figures sprinted towards the forest. Calmly, Draco lifted his wand, flicking his wrist as the figures halted and spasmed on the ground.

"Out of the way," he snarled at the Death Eaters crowding the three men, now tied up. The Death Eaters immediately parted for him as he approached the struggling figures.

"Do you feel nothing?" a large man in the middle yelled, tears streaming down his face. "There are dead bodies of children out there!"

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward but Draco held his hand up, stopping him. "Tell us where the Order headquarters are."

A younger man spat in his direction, but Draco remained unfazed. "Why don't you go back to your master and tell him to go fuck himself," he snarled.

Suddenly, a burst of magic hit Draco's chest. The Death Eaters reacted immediately, disarming and tying up the attacker that emerged from the woods. A witch, with a scarred face came into view, joining the rest.

Draco straightened, but not before calmly flicking his wand to stop the curse from spreading. He recognized the minor curse and knew it would heal when treated properly. But it didn't mean he could not feel the stinging burn around his chest and neck that would likely leave scars.

"Shall we make an example of them?" his second in command asked.

"No, take them as prisoners."

***

It was past midnight by the time Draco made it home. It had become a habit of his to check Scorpius whenever he returned, often finding his son fast asleep. This time however, he made his way through the shadowy halls directly to his room to clean up and tend to rest of his wounds properly from the witch who attacked him earlier.

Once cleaned, he sat on his bed, rubbing ointment on his scars. Moonlight shone through the windows outlining the silver scars along with red fresh ones on his bare chest. Distantly, his mind wandered towards Lucius, wandered towards locked memories of when his father was someone he looked up to. There was a time when Lucius had been a father to him — had bought his first toy broom and quill. There was a time when his father was someone he did not fear, who, despite his stern demeanor, was not always cold and cruel. And for a long time, Draco had searched for a glimmer of the man he once knew. But in refusing to see his father for who he was — a man severely flawed, regardless of his blood status and household name — it was too late. He had sold his soul and let himself be branded and bound to the same master his father served.

Draco stared at the Dark Mark on his arm, the black inky lines snaking and coiling, darker than the midnight shadows as if it was malignant and alive. Even if he shut his eyes, he could feel it move, feel the darkness and bond to his master that lived within him. The Dark Mark was not a mark that could be forced — one had to agree and accept the mark. And because of this, the Dark Mark was a reminder of the choices he had made, of what he had become, and his inability to escape what his own actions had turned himself into.

"Daddy?" The voice was quiet, almost worried. Draco looked up, finding Scorpius standing alone at the shadowy doorway, the moon's glow illuminating his furrowed brow and worried face. Scorpius approached him slowly, small feet pattering on the floor until he came between Draco's legs and looked up at him.

"You okay, daddy?" he whispered, placing a small hand on his cheek. Draco shut his eyes.

"I'm okay," he replied, finally opening his eyes again. Scorpius didn't look convinced. There was a solemness to him that reminded him of Astoria. It was the same expression that hinted that he knew more than he let on, even though he possibly couldn't.

"I stay wid you, daddy?"

Draco swallowed. "I would like that," he answered quietly.

Scorpius grinned happily before crawling into his lap, mindful of his father's wounds. Wrapping his arms around his son, Draco tucked them into his bed.

Scorpius snuggled into his chest, and, not long after, finally drifted off to sleep. Draco watched him, lost in his thoughts. With babies disappearing he knew he would do everything in his power to keep Scorpius safe. But safety wasn't enough anymore. He wanted more for his son, who deserved more than the life he had been born into. He deserved a better life. A better world.

"I'm not great at promises," Draco murmured, "but I promise to take care of you. I promise that I will do better. And I hope one day, you'll forgive me for what I have done and who I have become."

The next morning, Narcissa found them still fast asleep in Draco's bed, Scorpius' head against his chest and Draco's body curled around him.

***

"Good evening, Lord Malfoy," a voice called out from behind him, "or should I say... daddy?"

Draco turned from where he was staring out from the balcony and glowered at Theo who sauntered in with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"What are you doing here, Theo?" Draco crossed his arms, leaning on the balustrade. A gentle late afternoon breeze blew across his neck.

Theo put his hands up placatingly and chuckled soundlessly.