thirty eight : AGE OF DEATH

chapter xxxviii : age of death

"no, no no, please no. i'm not ready."

FLOURISH AND BLOTTS, WAS A SUFFOCATING CRUSH OF BODIES. The air was thick with the smell of old parchment and expensive perfume. A long queue snaked through the cramped aisles. A dusty looking Harry Potter, followed Hermione Granger inside. Up ahead, near the counter, was the comforting sight of the Weasley family. Ron, also dusty, and Valerie, equally powdered from using the Floo Network were talking animatedly.

             "—Oh, Harry! Thank goodness." Molly Weasley rushed forward, her hands fluttering over Harry's cloak, swatting at the clinging soot. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far."

Valerie's brown eyes, bright with relief, met her brother. "I thought I lost you, Harry," She joked, her voice light.

Harry grinned, shaking his head. "I'm your twin, you'll never lose me."

The family's private moment was shattered by a booming voice near the front. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Molly Weasley gasped, her hands flying to her chest in admiration.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows in predictable disdain.

A blindingly blond grinning man, emerged from behind a curtain, instantly dazzling the crowd.

            "Mum fancies him," Ron commented to the twins, earning a sharp, familiar glare from his mother before she immediately turned back to admire the celebrity author.

A man with a large, bulbous camera pushed forward, flashbulbs popping as he snapped pictures of Lockhart. But Lockhart's attention suddenly shifted, his practiced smile faltering as he peered over the crowd.

"It can't be... Harry and Valerie Potter?" He announced, his voice carrying clearly over the cheers.

The camera man gasped too. "Potters!"

Before the twins could protest or even react, they were grabbed and shoved forward.

Valerie felt the rough fabric of her cloak being adjusted.

They were positioned directly on either side of Lockhart, the author's arms clamped around their shoulders.

Valerie was in complete shock, but a flash of intuition told her to cooperate. She managed a quick, soft, awkward smile.

Harry, however, was bewildered, his eyes wide and dazed as the camera man shouted: "Nice big smile, this is for the front page!"

Harry simply stared, forgetting to smile, his expression a perfect portrait of shock, while Lockhart beamed triumphantly between the famous Potter twins.

Upstairs, perched on the elaborate balcony railing overlooking the chaotic scene, Draco Malfoy watched.

His platinum blond hair was slicked back, catching the light like polished silver, and his crisp, Slytherin-crested cloak hung perfectly from his shoulders—the very image of a rich boy observing the riffraff.

His handsome face was a mask of boiling fury.

He hated the Potters.

He hated their fame, their poverty, their stupid, selfless ways, and the fact that they were always at the centre of everything.

But Valerie Potter... she was the problem.

She infuriated him.

Even from this height, and even covered in disgusting soot from that filthy Floo Network, she still looked... arresting. The dust only seemed to accentuate the pale perfection of her skin and the dark fire in her eyes. The soft, genuine smile she managed for the camera, despite her clear discomfort, twisted something cold and hard in his gut.

He was supposed to despise her completely, yet when he looked at her, the contempt felt thin, brittle.

It was a hatred he clung to because it was the only way to manage the unwelcome, intense flutter he felt whenever she was near.

He had been raised to see her as the enemy, but his heart had quietly rejected the lesson.

She was everything he was supposed to hate, but she was all he truly wanted.

His anger—the only emotion he felt safe expressing—boiled over.

Moments later, Harry and Valerie were pulling away from the crowd, trying to catch their breath.

A voice, sharp and laced with cold mockery, cut through the noise.

"—Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potters?"

Draco had swept down the staircase and now stood directly in their path, his air one of arrogant superiority.

Valerie's breath hitched. Her heart, already racing from the surprise appearance, gave a sudden, hard flutter.

She tried to remain cool, hiding the rush of confusing emotion that always accompanied his presence—the furious anger warring with that unwelcome, secret crush.

Draco took a deliberate step toward them, his eyes fixed only on Valerie. "Famous Harry and Valerie Potter. Can't even go to a book shop without making the front page."

Valerie met his gaze, her jaw tight, prepared for the inevitable fight.

She challenges him.

"It's called fame, Malfoy. You wouldn't know anything about it, unless your father paid the photographer to show up for you."

Draco looked offended and he snapped back, observing all the dust on her clothes, face and hair. "Go buy some new clothes, you look like you crawled out of a chimney."

Valerie meets his silver eyes with a cool, dangerous defiance that makes his own gut twist. She doesn't flinch or look away from the dust on her clothes.

"It's only dust, Malfoy. It washes out," She countered simply, letting her voice drip with pity. "You, on the other hand, look like you're trying to hide in your father's shadow. Go back to being his good little prince."

That words strike him like a curse. The very notion of being his father's pawn is his deepest fear. Draco's control snaps. His face contorts with blinding rage, throwing away his smooth, arrogant mask entirely.

"I AM NOT!" He exploded, leaning into her face, his voice a low, furious hiss that was barely a shout. "You infuriate me, Valerie! I HATE you! I hate your stupid, filthy fame and your reckless pride, and I wish you had stayed lost in the Floo Network so I didn't have to look at your—"

The sharp, heavy CLACK of a silver-topped cane hitting his shoulder cut him off mid-scream. Draco froze instantly, the raw fury in his eyes replaced by a profound, cold terror.

He didn't dare move, but his silver eyes remained locked on Valerie, a furious, shattered mess of anger and desperate attraction.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind him, immaculate in his black robes, his pale, cold face fixed on his son.

He gave Draco a slight, punishing push with the cane before turning his chilling gaze toward the young twins, a polite but dangerous smile fixed on his lips.

"Now, now, Draco... play nicely," Lucius purred, his voice a silken warning. He stared down at Harry and Valerie. "Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last."

He raised his snake-head cane, the silver glinting, and gently moved Harry's fringe away from his forehead to reveal the famous scar.

"Forgive me," Lucius drawled, his voice thick with false courtesy. "Your scar is legend, as is, of course, the wizard who gave it to you."

Harry snapped back, his own Gryffindor rage boiling over.

"Voldemort killed my parents. He was nothing more than a murderer."

Lucius's smile didn't falter, but his eyes hardened.

"Hmm. You must be very brave to mention his name," He says, letting the thought hang in the air. "Or very foolish."

His gaze then swept over Valerie Potter, lingering pointedly on the Slytherin crest embroidered on her dusty cloak. Draco watched the interaction, his entire body tense, still unable to tear his eyes from her.

"And you must be the twin sister. Draco speaks of you often," Lucius commented, the words dripping with casual malice. He didn't elaborate on how Draco spoke of her, but the implication of obsession—even hateful obsession—was clear. He paused, his gaze settling on her crest. "Allow me to offer my congratulations. It seems at least one Potter twin has the sense to be in the correct House."

Draco watched his father, unable to move. A warmth spread through his chest. It was a fleeting surge of pride—the simple, childish joy of hearing his father give a compliment to Valerie Potter. For one brief, impossible second, a foolish corner of his heart yearned for his father's full acceptance of her.

But the fleeting warmth of a moment could not stop the turning of the tide.

The careless dreams forged under the bright lights of Diagon Alley had long dissolved into the grim, solitary reality of war.

Valerie Raven Potter had been seventeen years old for weeks now.

Mid September came and the ticking clock was counting down to an unknown end.

Voldemort had been demanding new visions, and each time, Melody would step in, offering him half-truths, fragments of the future twisted into a palatable lie.

It bought them time, but at a terrible, unceasing cost.

The physical toll on Valerie Potter was a horrifying, day-by-day erosion of her very being.

The cold was the worst of it.

She would shiver constantly, a fine tremor that ran through her body even though it was summer and when she was bundled in layers.

Her vision, too, had begun to blur at the edges, a constant, dizzying fog that made the world feel perpetually out of focus.

It was a daily, mundane torment that no one but Draco Malfoy could truly see.

In the quiet hours, when the world felt too heavy and the hum in her mind too loud, she would turn to Eric's diary.

It was a place she could find a moment of peace.

One afternoon, she found a page with a frantic, childish scrawl and a small, shaky drawing of a woman. The entry was dated when Eric was ten.

I MET LADY GAGA!!!

She was so kind and pretty and SHE'S A WITCH!

I knew it!

Mum told me she went to Beauxbatons, but she's just famous in the Muggle world now.

She even did a little dance for me when I told her she was my favourite singer.

Mum said I couldn't tell anyone, so I'm writing it here.

She told me to always be myself no matter what!

It was the best day ever.

I'm going to be a star just like her one day!

A soft, sad smile touched Valerie's lips. The words were a window into a life that was so innocent, so full of joy. It was a small, treasured memory that had been stolen from her, and it was the one thing that could quiet the noise in her head for a few brief moments.

Draco moved through the house with a fierce, quiet purpose.

He was a man holding on by a thread, and every action he took was an act of desperate love. He would warm her clothes with a spell before she put them on, the fabric radiating a gentle heat that was her only real comfort against the chill she would feel.

He cooked soups and stews, coaxing her to eat even a few spoonfuls, his jaw tight with anxiety as she pushed the bowl away.

His own meals were forgotten, his appetite gone, his mind consumed by a constant, suffocating fear of losing her.

One afternoon, the quiet was broken by the sound of her phone ringing.

It was Pansy Parkinson.

She had also left Hogwarts, and her voice was a bright, familiar light in the suffocating darkness of their isolated lives.

"Val! You haven't called in ages, I was starting to think you forgot about me," Pansy said, her voice full of a playful exasperation that felt so beautifully normal.

             "I'm so sorry, Pans. It's been... a lot," Valerie answered, her voice a thin, reedy thing.

            "I know, honey. It's crazy out there. I'm thinking of doing something completely bonkers." Pansy paused, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "I want to open a hair salon. Can you imagine?"

They talked for a few more minutes, a precious moment of connection.

A few days later, a sharp knock at the door broke the tense silence.

It was Narcissa Malfoy.

Valerie opened the door, and Narcissa's expression, for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. The sight of her son's beloved, so thin and pale and broken, was a shock that she couldn't hide. The flinch was barely perceptible, a ghost of a reaction that only Valerie saw before Narcissa's face settled into a mask of polite concern.

"My darling," She spoke, stepping inside, a bag full of groceries in her hands. She kissed Valerie's cold cheek and immediately went to her son, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Are you all right, my son?"

Draco just nodded, his own arms wrapping around her in a desperate, silent hug.

Now, with the world in chaos and Draco's life in danger, she had come to her son's side.

She unpacked the groceries, her movements precise and quick, the unspoken conflict radiating from her in quiet waves. She brought out a small, silk-wrapped package and placed it on the table.

            "I picked these up for the baby," She mentioned, her voice carefully neutral.

Valerie and Draco opened the package to find a set of baby clothes—tiny, exquisitely made robes and booties, embroidered with the Malfoy crest.

The colours were the neutral tones of the Malfoy crest, silver and green.

It was a gesture of love, but also a gesture of ownership.

She was trying to claim the baby as her own, a way of holding onto the pureblood traditions that Draco had so spectacularly broken.

Narcissa's conflict was a silent war fought on the battlefield of her heart.

She was a pureblood matriarch, a woman raised to believe in blood superiority, a woman who had seen firsthand the consequences of defying the Dark Lord.

Yet, she was also a mother, and the love she felt for her son, the desire to protect him and the family he had chosen, was a more powerful magic than any dark curse.

She looked at Valerie, her lips a tight, thin line.

The girl was a half-blood, and her grandchild would be as well.

Draco had broken the Malfoy pureblood line, and the wound in her soul was raw and painful.

But her son was alive, he was safe, and he was happy.

For now, that had to be enough.

Later, after Narcissa had left and the silence had settled once more, Draco walked over to Valerie and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her head, and his voice was a low, bitter murmur.

         "She's worried. Not just about us. About him. My father."

Valerie turned in his arms, her eyes asking the question he already knew.

"He's furious," Draco expressed, the words a raw confession. "Furious that I broke the line, that I chose you. He would kill you himself if he could. He sees you as a stain on the family name."

Valerie flinched, the words stinging like a lash.

"—But he can't," Draco continued, his voice hard. "He knows that Voldemort is interested in you. He knows that if he touched a hair on your head, he'd face the full wrath of the Dark Lord. It's the most insane, terrifying irony in the world. The only thing keeping you safe... is him."

Valerie rested her head against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt, her heart a heavy, aching thing in her chest.

After awhile, she went to the bathroom splashing cold water on her face, hoping to shock herself back into the present. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, her own eyes a familiar, terrified brown. But as she watched, the face in the glass began to shimmer and distort.

It wasn't Lilith.

It was something new.

She saw a sterile, clinical room, the walls a blinding, oppressive white.

A strange, beeping machine stood in the corner.

She saw her own pale, gaunt face, eyes wide with pain, and she saw Draco's face, a mask of sheer terror. He was yelling, but she couldn't hear him. The only sound was the frantic, erratic beep of the machine. The vision shifted, blurring into a flash of a tiny, unnaturally still figure, shrouded in tubes and wires, glowing unnervingly in a glass box.

A scream tore from Valerie's throat, a raw, strangled sound that ripped through the quiet house.

She stumbled back from the mirror, her legs giving out, and fell to the floor, her body trembling with a new, agonising fear.

The pain was not a dull ache or a slow decay: It was a sudden, wrenching fire in her abdomen, a brutal, unmistakable contraction.

It was wrong.

It was too early.

         "Draco!" She screamed, her voice hoarse with terror. "Help me!"

He was there in an instant, his face contorted in a mask of panic. He was on his knees beside her, his hands hovering, not knowing what to do. "Val? What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?" He asked, his voice shaking.

She couldn't speak, couldn't form the words.

She just stared at him, her eyes wide with a frantic, desperate fear.

She pointed a trembling finger at the living room, a silent, urgent plea.

He, too, saw the terror, a fear he had only seen in the mirror or in a nightmare, never in real life. But he was frozen in place, a deer in the headlights, his mind a jumbled mess.

"The bag! Go get the bag!" She choked out, her body seized by another painful cramp. "Please... just grab the bag!"

He ran, his heart a frantic drumbeat in his chest, his mind racing.

He was grabbing the bag when his eyes landed on what was inside.

The soft, silver and green baby blanket Narcissa had brought, the tiny, handmade booties, a pacifier still in its wrapper.

His mind, which had been blank with fear, suddenly went into a terrifying, gut-wrenching focus.

He understood.

It was the baby. It was coming. Now.

He sprinted back to the bathroom, grabbing her into his arms, his mind a silent litany of prayers and curses. He carried her out of the house, ignoring the pain in her body, his mind only on getting her to the car.

The rain started to fall as he drove, a cold, unceasing downpour that mirrored their terror.

The roads were slick and treacherous, the headlights of other cars a blinding, surreal blur.

Draco's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Valerie was in the passenger seat, her body curled into a ball, her hands wrapped around her stomach as another contraction ripped through her.

The small, whimpering sounds she made were the only things he could hear over the sound of the rain and the frantic beating of his own heart.

Her breathing came in a series of short, hitched gasps, a whimpering sound that she couldn't seem to control.

The pain was a living thing, a fiery serpent coiling in her belly, squeezing with a relentless, brutal force.

She was curled in the passenger seat, her hands wrapped around her stomach, her forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window. The world outside was a smear of dark grey and flashing lights.

She lifted her head, her gaze falling to the rearview mirror.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, there was Melody, sitting in the backseat.

Her face was a mask of pure, devastating worry, her brown eyes wide and mournful as they met Valerie's.

There was a deep sadness in her gaze.

"—No, no, no," Valerie whimpered, her voice a thin, reedy thing. "Please no, I'm not ready." The words weren't for Draco, it was a silent plea that she wouldn't have to follow Melody to the other side.

She wasn't ready to go, not yet.

Not when her baby was coming, not when Draco's love was a fragile, anchoring point in her broken world.

And then, the humming stopped.

It was replaced by a woman singing the full song, a sweet, irresistible current that was promising peace.

She felt her body go slack, the pain fading into a distant, muffled echo.

She was so tired, so terribly tired.

The darkness at the edge of her vision began to creep in, a velvety blackness that promised a relief she desperately craved.

Her eyes fluttered, her body slumping against the seat.

Draco felt her go limp.

He risked a panicked glance away from the treacherous road, his heart seizing in his chest as he saw her unconscious form. His blood ran cold. "Valerie!" He yelled, his voice a frantic, desperate thing. "Wake up! Don't you dare give up on me!"

He reached over with one hand, shaking her shoulder, trying to rouse her from the darkness.

He was driving with one hand, the car swerving slightly on the slick roads. He had to keep it together. He had to be strong. He had to get her to the hospital.

"Val, come on, please," He pleaded, his voice cracking with a fear so profound it was almost a scream. "We're almost there. Just... just hold on. For me. For our baby."

His words, a distant echo through the encroaching darkness, were the only thing that could pull her back. She heard his love, the desperate, raw sound of his voice. With a soft, shuddering gasp, her eyes fluttered open. She was back. She was in the car, the rain still lashing against the windows, the road ahead a blinding blur of lights. She was alive.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot, the emergency room entrance a beacon of sterile, fluorescent light.

It wasn't St. Mungo's, the wizarding hospital that would have had a Healer on hand in seconds.

That was miles away.

This was the closest hospital he could find, a Muggle fortress of glass and steel, and a fortress he was utterly unprepared for."We need a doctor!" Draco screamed, his voice a raw, desperate thing as he ran through the automatic doors. "She's in labor! She's in labor and it's too soon!"

A nurse with a tired, kind face was there in an instant, her eyes taking in Valerie's pale, trembling body and Draco's panicked, disheveled state. "Alright, sir, let's get her a room. How many months is she?" She asked, already motioning for an orderly.

            "She's... around seven," Draco said, the words catching in his throat.

The nurse nodded grimly.

The staff moved with practiced efficiency, a stark contrast to their isolated, slow-paced life at the lake.

A team of nurses surrounded Valerie.

The cold, sterile air of the hospital was a suffocating thing, and the constant beeping of the machines was a terrifying symphony of their new reality.

They wheeled Valerie down a long, white hallway, the blinding fluorescent lights a painful assault on her eyes.

Draco ran beside her, his hand gripping hers, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He was a wizard, a pure-blood with generations of power running through his veins, yet here he was, utterly powerless.

There was no spell for this, no potion to ease the pain, no magic to make it better.

He was just a man.

He was trying to be her shield, but he was losing his fight.

All the magic in the world couldn't stop the fear that was now a living, breathing thing inside him.

The labor was fast and brutal, a reflection of the violence of the curse that had brought them here.

Draco was in the room, his hand still holding hers, his eyes locked on her face, a silent promise in his gaze.

Valerie, unable to scream, was a silent, trembling mess of pain and exhaustion.

Her body was a battlefield, and she was fighting with every ounce of her strength.

The doctor's voice was a distant, muffled sound, a series of commands and reassurances that she couldn't comprehend.

She could only focus on Draco's face, his terrified, loving eyes her only lifeline.

Each contraction was a wave of pure agony, a brutal, relentless assault on her body.

She was barely able to breathe, her vision blurring at the edges, the world swaying and spinning.

It was a fight for her life, a fight to hold on.

The gentle, mournful lullaby from before had been replaced by Lilith's song, this time a frantic, high-pitched scream that was an aural reflection of her own pain.

She pushed, and the world went white with pain.

Then, there was a final, wrenching gasp, and the room was filled with a small, quiet, terrified cry.

The doctor held up a tiny, impossibly small figure, a fragile life that was barely a few pounds.

"It's a baby boy."

He was whisked away almost immediately by a team of nurses, his faint cries quickly fading as they placed him in a glowing, transparent box.

Valerie's head fell back against the pillow, her body finally relaxing, a profound, silent exhaustion settling over her.

She looked at Draco, her eyes full of a love and a loss that was too deep for words.

The baby was gone, taken from them, separated from them by a wall of glass and technology.

Hours later, after the chaos had subsided and Valerie was cleaned up and settled in a bed, they were allowed to see him.

He was in the Intensive Care Unit, a small, fragile life in a sea of tubes and wires.

He was so incredibly tiny.

His head was no bigger than a teacup, his fingers like little matchsticks.

He was a silent, peaceful creature, his tiny chest rising and falling with a steady, rhythmic beep.

Draco and Valerie sat in the quiet room, staring at their baby.

The world had taken so much from them, and now it was holding their son hostage, a constant, brutal reminder of what they had lost.

             "—He needs a name," Valerie whispered, her voice a thin, reedy sound.

Draco nodded, his eyes locked on the tiny, fragile face. "I've been thinking about it," He expressed, his voice a low, steady rumble. He reached over and gently took her hand. "We'll name him Scorpius. For Eric. His middle name was Scorpius, right? It's a tribute to him. He taught you how to find joy."

Valerie squeezed his hand, "And Harrison," She whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "For my brother, Harry. A way of honouring him."

Scorpius Harrison Malfoy, was a name of promise and hope.

It was a new beginning in a world that was determined to take everything from them. He was a piece of Eric's joy and a piece of Harry's courageous soul.

He was their son.

And he was their reason to stay strong.

⋆˙⟡

VALERIE POTTER LAY IN BED. A profound exhaustion seeping into her bones, but her mind was a whirlwind of emotion. The pain had been a brutal, horrifying reality, but the silence that followed was a miracle.

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently stroking her soft hair. He was still wearing the clothes he had arrived in, his blond hair disheveled, but his eyes were clear, a deep, unwavering grey. "You did it," He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You were so brave. The bravest person I've ever known."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her lips, a kiss that was both a desperate prayer and a raw confession of love and relief. "I'm so sorry, Val. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more. I just... I was so helpless."

"—You were here," She whispered, her voice a thin, reedy thing. "That was enough. You saved me, my love."

She managed to give him a weak, tearful smile. "It's a boy," The words a fragile, beautiful thing. "We have a son."

They couldn't leave.

The doctor had been very clear.

Their baby was a premature fighter, but he was tiny and fragile.

He needed the steady care of the hospital, the constant beeping of the machines and the watchful eyes of the nurses.

For now, the Muggle hospital was their entire world, a fortress that protected their son from the outside world.

Draco, in a rare moment alone in the quiet hallway, had pulled out his phone and made the call.

The words had been a blur, a mixture of panicked relief and raw emotion, but he had told her everything—the premature birth, the Muggle hospital, and the fragile, perfect life that was now his son.

Narcissa Malfoy, arrived as soon as she could.

She was not the same woman who had brought them groceries.

Her face was pale, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated fear.

She walked toward him with a swift, purposeful stride, her expensive robes a stark contrast to the bland, clinical setting.

"Draco," She breathed, her voice a terrified whisper as she pulled him into a fierce embrace. "My son. I came as soon as I could. Where is he?"

He led her to the glass-walled nursery where all the tiny, fragile babies lay.

He watched as his mother, the proud, unyielding matriarch, stopped at the window.

Her eyes, which had held so much anger and disappointment, now filled with a profound, aching love as they landed on the smallest incubator.

Scorpius lay on his back, his tiny head turned to the side, his little hands curled into fists.

He was a silent, peaceful creature, a fragile life that was the sum of all their hopes and fears.

Narcissa pressed her hand to the glass, a single tear of peace and profound love rolling down her cheek. "My grandson," She whispered, her voice a broken, beautiful thing. "My darling, brave boy."

The days that followed were a testament to their love and to the strange, unyielding routine of the Muggle hospital.

Every morning, they would go to the NICU.

They would sit for hours, simply watching him.

Draco would quietly cast warming charms on Valerie's hot chocolate cup, his eyes never leaving hers.

He would bring her food and whisper stories to her about the Muggle news he read on the newspaper, the absurdity of it a comforting shield against their reality.

They learned the small, mundane things of parenthood.

But the recline was still there.

It came to Valerie in fleeting, terrifying flashes. One moment, she would be listening to the rhythmic beeping of the machines, and the next, she would be standing by a sink, her hands shaking, as the face of Lilith shimmered in the water.

Narcissa, meanwhile, was a constant, quiet presence. She would arrive in the mornings with a bag full of clean clothes and fresh food for them both, acting as a proud grandmother.

One afternoon, the recline came back in full force.

Valerie was in a hospital bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, and when she looked up, Lilith was there, her face contorted in a silent, menacing snarl.

Valerie felt the familiar, cold panic, and a low, mournful humming started in her mind.

She heard a voice, a ghostly echo of her own, whispering, "You think you're safe? You'll always belong to me."

Valerie stumbled back from the mirror, her heart pounding.

She ran from the bathroom and nearly collided with Pansy Parkinson, who was standing in the hallway, a massive blue balloon floating over her head.

But before Valerie could say anything, Pansy's eyes widened, a look of surprise and concern on her face as she saw something over Valerie's shoulder.

Narcissa Malfoy was just down the hallway, her back to them.

She was on her phone, and her face, usually so composed, was a mask of cold fury.

Pansy saw her lips tighten as she listened to the person on the other end, her voice a low, furious murmur. "I don't care what you think, Lucius. He's my grandson! I won't have it."

Then, in a moment that broke Pansy's heart, Narcissa's face crumpled. "No. No, I know... I know. You would kill him yourself." She ran a hand over her face, and when she spoke again, her voice was a defeated, desperate plea. "Please, just let him be."

The two women exchanged a polite, knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of their shared reality.

They both knew Lucius was furious, and they both knew what he was capable of.

"—IT'S A BOY!" Pansy announced merrily, her voice a little too loud, breaking the tension. She presented Valerie with the balloon and a large basket full of baby supplies—diapers, bottles, formula, and tiny, colourful onesies.

Valerie's trembling hand reached out and touched the balloon, a small, genuine smile touching her lips.

The vibrant blue and the cheerful phrase were so wonderfully out of place in this somber setting that it made her chuckle.

They went into the NICU, and Pansy's playful demeanour fell away the moment she saw him.

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the tiny, fragile life, her fingers tracing the outline of his incubator. "He's so tiny," She whispered, the words choked with emotion.

After a few minutes, Valerie gently took Pansy's hand. "We wanted to ask you something,"

                 "Oh, Val," Pansy answered, her voice filled with a desperate, beautiful love. "Anything. You know that."

              "We want you to his godmother," Draco acknowledged, his voice a low, steady rumble.

Pansy stared at them, her mouth agape. "Are you... are you two sure? Are you really sure?" She asked, tears streaming down her face. "I'm just... I'm just Pansy."

Valerie laughed, a soft, reedy sound that was a beautiful thing to hear. "Of course we're sure. There's no one else we would rather have."

Pansy absolutely lost it.

She hugged Valerie fiercely, sobbing into her shoulder. "Thank you," She cried, her voice muffled and thick with emotion. "I've never felt so... so important to someone before. Thank you. I'll be there for your son. Every step of the way."

⋆˙⟡

🩵 IT'S A BABY BOY !! 🩵

who guessed it right?

& also did anyone predict the name? because ive been hinting everywhere

UPDATE : i will try my very best to post a new chapter every single day again !!! :D so please continue to vote & comment to help my story grow

in the original version of this story, i automatically made narcissa malfoy 100% accepting of valerie potter.

she knew draco had liked her for years, and it was an instant, beautiful acceptance.

however, in this rewriting, i wanted to take a more realistic approach to her character.

this meant exploring the deep-seated pureblood beliefs she was raised with and the internal conflict she would face as a mother.

she's a woman caught between two powerful forces: the traditions and social standing of her family and her fierce, maternal love for her son.

I SEND KISSES & HUGS TO EVERYONE! THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART FOR READING MY STORY 🥹🩵

( authors personal notes )published — 10:40pm october 5th 2025current amount of reads — 71.8kcurrent amount of votes — 1.83kword count — 5,810