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AN: Just to let everyone know – this story is meant to be a follow on from Seven Deadly Sins and Back to Temptation. However, if for some reason you don’t want to go and read those stories, this is all you need to know: Draco and Hermione are together, which has caused a rift in her relationship with Harry and Ron. Gosh, it sounds so bland when I put it like that, maybe you’d better go read the other stories. Anyway, this is my first attempt at a next generation story based around an original character, so all of your comments are very helpful.  Also, I might have got some of the chronology wrong, but I hope  no-one cares too much…Thanks!




Hermione lay back against Draco and watched as his hands slipped around her and rested on the bump of her stomach. She felt their baby shift slightly and smiled as it kicked. “She always does that when you touch my stomach.”


“She’s going to be a daddy’s girl then.” He kissed the top of her head and hugged her slightly closer. “Have you thought about names?”


“I am not calling my daughter Sophronia.” She looked at back at Draco with raised eyebrows.


“It’s a family name,” he protested feebly.


“And your family is more than welcome to it. I want my daughter to have a normal name though.” She crossed her arms resolutely and felt her baby kick, as though in agreement.


“I’ve got a whole list…Portia, Titania, Madrona, Beatirsa…”


“Now you’re just teasing me.” Hermione pressed her spine back against him. “Why does it have to be so grandiose?”


“Says the girl with a name that comes from Ancient Greece.”


“You honestly want to name our daughter Madrona Malfoy?”


“Would you let me?”


“No.” She smiled back at him and reached back to kiss him. “What about Primrose?”


Draco said it a few times and shrugged apologetically. “It reminds me of a horse.”




“And you think I’m being cruel?”


“It’s an admirable quality!”


“Yes, and her schoolmates will be so grateful: you’ll provide them with so many opportunities for teasing. Does it really matter this much? Let’s just pick the name of the next woman that we see.”


“No! This is important. I want to give her a name that she’ll love!”


Draco sighed quietly and hugged his wife a little closer. “What about Rosalind?”


She paused, her automatic rejection on her tongue. “Rosalind Malfoy.”


“It sounds good, doesn’t it?”


“Rosie for short.”


“Do we have a name?”


She turned round and hugged herself into him. “We have a name.” They lay quietly for a minute, their baby between them, until Hermione broke the silence. “I had a thought.”


“Which was?”


“Harry and Ginny’s son, James, will be one year above Rosie at Hogwarts. Do you think they’ll argue?”


“Why would they? Kids are oblivious. They aren’t going to know about you falling out with Harry and Ron. So why would they ever carry on that argument? They’ll probably never even talk.”



Chapter One

16 Years Later

Rosie Malfoy smoothed down her Gryffindor robes, rolled her eyes and muttered loudly enough for her parents to hear. “Do you have to do that in public?”


Draco removed his lips from Hermione’s cheek and pretended to clip his daughter around the head. “When I was your age, I respected my parents.”


“Well, I’m sure your parents didn’t indulge in utterly repulsive public displays of affection. Try and hold it in check, why don’t you?”


Hermione smiled at her daughter. “You should consider yourself lucky that you have parents who love each other so much.”


“Why?” Rosie was tempted to run for the Hogwarts Express but was still strangely reluctant to leave her parents’ side. “It doesn’t serve any useful purpose.”


Draco looked at his only child and wondered how on earth she managed to provoke the most intense feelings of irritation and paternal pride at the same time. “Have you got all your stuff?”


“I ought to, Mum’s checked it about a million and one times.” She stuck her fingers into the wicker cat basket that was balancing on top of her trunk and stroked the downy fur of her slumbering cat. “What’s wrong with Tilly?”


“You mean, why isn’t she clawing off your fingers? I gave her a sleeping draught before we got her in the basket. I wasn’t having a repeat of last time.”


“If you hadn’t frightened her, then she wouldn’t have attacked you Dad.” She began hauling her trunk towards the train. “Are you going to help me, or did you think you’d done enough when you drugged my cat?”


Hermione poked her husband in the ribs and watched as he dragged his daughter’s belongings towards the train. It was odd seeing them together, Rosie’s long hair the exact shade of platinum blonde that Draco’s was. But as her daughter looked up, Hermione was met with her own brown eyes staring back at her, something that never failed to shock her. “Mum, are you going to help, or are you going to just stand there gawking?”


“Watch your tone,” Draco cautioned half-heartedly.


She flashed him the smile that always had him melting, something which she had worked out at the age of six, and had never failed to use whenever it suited her. Then, standing back, she let him heave the trunk onto the train and then hopped lightly after it. Leaning out of a window, she blew kisses at her parents. “See you at Christmas!”


“Take care of yourself! And work hard!” And then their daughter was lost to sight as she disappeared into the depth of the train. 


Draco turned to Hermione. “I though you said the terrible twos were the worst thing we were going to have to deal with.”


Linking her arm through his, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think she’s quite grown out of that stage yet.” The guard’s whistle sounded and they prepared themselves to wave at the train in the vain hope that their fiercely independent daughter was standing by the window to catch a last glimpse of them. 


A flurry of activity caught their eye further down the platform. Two tall, dark haired boys were hurriedly pushing at their trunks while their parents, the father with jet black hair and the mother with flaming red, stood by, encouraging them. A small girl with red hair was already standing on the train, watching eagerly. Hermione nudged Draco. “The Potters.”


Draco nodded silently. They watched as the boys bestowed hasty kisses on their parents and leapt onto the train, mere seconds before it began to pull away.  “Do you think Rosie does ever talk to them?”


“She’s never mentioned it if she has.” Hermione smiled at him. “But then, she likes to guard her privacy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s storing it up for use on some special occasion.”



Rosalind sat back against the worn seats and looked at the countryside as it flashed past her.  Smiling slightly as she thought of her parents, standing arm in arm as they waved at the train. Of course she still watched for them, but it would never do to let them know that. As far as they were concerned, she was an independent young adult, and had no need of the parental safety net that they provided for her. Looking up, she raised an eyebrow as a two, tall, dark-haired boys pulled open the door to her compartment. She recognised them vaguely, having seen them around Gryffindor tower. 


“Do you mind if we sit here?” The younger one asked, only to look around and see his sibling already settling into a seat. “James!” he hissed. His brother gave him a nonplussed stare. 


“What? There’s a seat here, and thanks to you taking forever this morning, I’m not going to be able to get one anywhere else on the train. So I’m going to sit here.” He turned towards Rosie and gave her a confident smile that instantly set every nerve in her body on edge. “I’m James Potter.”


Fighting back her immediate response, which was to snap ‘Should I be impressed by that?’,  she smiled tightly and answered “Rosalind Malfoy.”


He nodded and she turned back around to the window as the younger one, who must be Albus she now realised, remembering who the boys were, sat down next to her.  “What year are you in?”




“Between us. James is Seventh and I’m Fifth.”


“I was able to work that one out.” She smiled again, tightly, hoping to dissuade him from continuing the conversation.


“You must have done well in your O.W.Ls to get through to your N.E.W.Ts.” Albus said, looking at her as though she had done something vaguely miraculous. 




“What did you get?”


She exhaled heavily through her nose. “Outstanding in everything.”


James nodded to himself, as though approving her, which irritated her more than she would have thought possible. “I could have done that if I’d actually put some effort in.”


“But you didn’t?”


“Nah. My dad was furious.”


She smiled half-heartedly and turned back to the window. Was she meant to join in with that conversation and moan about parents? She could think of far more interesting things to do.


“So Rosalind” James had obviously decided that she was worth talking to. “ Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”


She thought about giving him a slightly manic smile and saying ‘I didn’t have any until you came along’ but instead decided that normality was a better idea. “I got on the train late, and didn’t know if I’d be able to find them. I decided to wait and catch up with them later.”


James nodded. “Done anything interesting with your summer?”


“Not really. You?”


“Played a bit of Quidditch, met up with friends, you know the sort of thing.”


“Oh.” She turned back to the window and wished he would shut up so that she could just think. She knew precisely the sort of person he was: a jock who thought he was the best thing to grace Hogwart’s halls in the last decade. She had absolutely no interest in talking to him.


“Do you play Quidditch?”


“No, I hate flying. I think I get it from my mum; she can’t work brooms either.”


“You don’t like flying? I’m sure you would, if you had the right sort of lessons. I’m an excellent teacher. In more ways than one.” 


Rosie vacillated between giving him a contemptuous glare or opting to be civil. The manners which Hermione had instilled into her at great length (“Well, I don’t want her to be as rude as you were Draco.”)  won out. “I just don’t have a head for heights. I find it hard enough to deal with the Astronomy tower.”


“I’d look after you.”


“I don’t need you as a teacher, no matter how excellent you claim to be.”


“Oh.” James sat back and studied her as she stared resolutely out of the window. Her face was quite angular, the jut of her cheekbones almost too severe, making her heart-shaped face look almost sharp. The velvet brown of her eyes was a strange shade next to her light blonde hair, and the cushion of her lower lip was uneven next to her thin upper lip. He didn’t know who her parents were, but had he been aware of it, he would have seen how their features blended in her face. She contrasted in every single aspect of her appearance which left her too unusual to be beautiful, but she had a peculiarly appealing nature about her.


Albus saw the look on his brother’s face and wanted to scream. It was the exact same expression that he had had when they went on a family holiday to France last year, and James had seen all of the scantily clad girls on the beach: an appraising, anticipatory look. He seemed to think that any girl he approached would instantly flutter her eyelashes and fall under his spell. Casting a quick look at the silent Rosalind, he felt that she might not be so quick to succumb as girls usually were.


Because girls did seem to fall for James. He was tall, conventionally handsome and a key member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Intelligent but unwilling to focus on his academic studies, he preferred to spend his time in class laughing with his friends or picking arguments with the teachers. He was a friendly, appealing young man who was well aware of it. Albus raised his eyes to heaven; why did none of that easygoing confidence extend to him? He looked out into the corridor to see one of his friends walk past and immediately jumped up to run after him, anything rather than watch James make yet another move on yet another girl. 


James watched his younger brother run out into the corridor and then turned his speculative gaze back to Rosalind. “You’re quiet Rosie.”


“What’s the point of having inane conversations? And please don’t call me Rosie.”


“This is an inane conversation? I’m hurt!” He smiled at her, the insult rushing straight over him. “And why can’t I call you Rosie?”


“Only my friends call me Rosie. You only met me fifteen minutes ago, so I doubt very much that you’re a friend. And yes, I think this is a perfect example of an inane conversation.”


He drew back slightly, his eyebrows furrowed. “Well, there’s me put thoroughly in my place. What did I do to deserve that?”


Rosalind looked at him.  Truth be told, she didn’t know what he had done to warrant that. She had barely noticed him before today. Yes, he was arrogant, but she could deal with that. But he was friendlier than anyone had a right to be, and there was something about him that made her want to cut him back down to a size that she could deal with. But once again, good manners coerced her into smiling politely and apologising. “Sorry, you  didn’t deserve that.”


“Why say it then?”


Her irritation promptly rose. He was asking questions that she could not answer, and no student who has consistently received top marks likes to be the recipient of such questions. “I don’t know.”


He looked her over once more, and she felt her blood rise to her cheeks and instantly wanted to hide her face in her hands. Because she had such pale skin, the smallest blush that went to her cheeks made her look like she had been painted with a particularly virulent shade of crimson. He looked at her incredulously and laughed quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl actually blush. What century are you from Rosalind?”


“It was your fault. You were looking at me!”


“Listen to yourself you nutjob. I was looking at you?”


“You know precisely what I mean.”


“No, I don’t.” From the look on his face, she could tell that he was telling the truth and decided that she probably was going mad from a mixture of intense annoyance and too much blood flow to her head. Unable to think of any sufficiently witty retorts and unwilling to back down and put up with his mild teasing, she stood up and walked out of the carriage, almost as furious with herself as she was with him. And utterly confused because as far as she could logically tell, he had done nothing to warrant such anger.


James watched her departing back and shook his head in amusement. A peculiar appeal was all well and good but he didn’t need someone that defensive. 



An hour later, Rosalind was murmuring in her friend Sophie’s ear, filling her in on the events of the train journey. Sophie whipped around and hissed loudly “And you were rude to him?”


Several first years, waiting to be sorted, jumped slightly at the harsh sound of the hiss. Rosie gestured for her friend to keep her voice down. “Will you be quiet? He’s only a couple of seats down?”


Sophie  raised her eyes to heaven and lowered her voice. “Why on earth would you be rude to James Potter?”


“why wouldn’t I be? He’s cocky, and arrogant, and rude…”




Honesty compelled Rosie to amend her statement. “Well, not rude per se, but you should have seen the way he was acting. He wouldn’t stop talking or…”


“Have you any idea how many girls would kill to have been talking to James? Quidditch team, clever, utterly gorgeous.”


“He’s not that amazing. He just thinks he is, and for some reason everyone believes him.”


Rosie discretely looked down the table. James was laughing with his friends, his hair glossy under the candlelight. Sophie saw where her gaze was directed and looked closer to whisper into her friend’s ear. “So why can’t you stop staring at him? Rosalind, surely you aren’t buying into the myth that James Potter is amazing?”


Rosie elbowed her friend in the ribs, Sophie’s giggles fortunately drowned out by the Ravenclaws clapping at the newest arrival to their house. “Yes, he’s attractive, but I need much more than that!” She met her friend’s eye levelly for a minute and then the pair of them dissolved into laughter.


James had just finished telling his friends about what had happened to him on the train. “I’m telling you, she just got up and walked out!”


“You’re sure you didn’t spit at her or something?”


“Unlike you, Richard, I have some understanding of social graces. No, of course I didn’t spit at her or something. I was a perfect gentleman.”


Michael raised an eyebrow, and James sighed. “You don’t need to be so dubious. I was my usual, charming self.”


“That’s precisely why I’m dubious. Your usual self is not particularly charming.”


James coolly took a sip from his goblet. “Say what you want. I’m charming, you know I’m charming and more to the point, that girl there,” he paused to nod his head in the direction of a Hufflepuff girl coyly eying him, “thinks I’m charming. The evidence stands for itself.”


“Well, dear Rosalind clearly doesn’t think so.”


James waved a hand in a nonchalant gesture of dismissal and winked at the Hufflepuff. “A single dissenting voice in the face of my outstanding popularity. I’ll survive.”


His friends smiled with him, unable to deny his charisma.



The next day, Rosalind was sitting in her Potions class, absentmindedly running the feathers of her quill against her cheek as she stared at the blackboard. Slughorn was recapping the points of the lesson, and she was miles away, still lost in her memories of yesterday’s encounter. Now that she wasn’t faced with James, she could think of a million excellent retorts, yet none of them quite seemed to do justice to the intense feelings of irritation that she was still harbouring. 


Jolted from her reverie by the sound of wooden stools scraping against the stone floor, she sat upright and began shoving her things into her bag. Slughorn wandered over to her desk. “Are you alright Miss Malfoy?”


“Oh, fine thank you Professor. Sorry if I’ve seemed a little distracted, I…”


“A little homesick, I wouldn’t wonder.” Rosie opened her mouth to correct him, but he was speaking irregardless. “A summer spent at home with your fine parents, Hogwarts must seem a little barren in comparison.”


“I…” Rosie paused and then looked at him. “What did you say?”


“Your fine parents. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, I believe, hmmm?” He laced his fingers contentedly across his ever-expanding stomach.


Rosie’s eyebrows furrowed together. “How do you know who my parents are?”


“Well, I taught both of them of course.” Slughorn rocked back and forth on his heels. “And then there was all the controversy surrounding them at your father’s trial.”


“My…my father’s trial?” 


Slughorn looked at her closely. “You were unaware of this?”


Rosie nodded silently and stared at him with wide eyes.


“Well, in that case I would be ill-advised to continue.” He turned back towards his desk, only to feel Rosie’s pale hand clutching at his sleeve.


“Professor, you can’t tell me something like that and refuse to elaborate.” She gulped. “My father was on trial? For what? And why was there a controversy? Please, Professor, you know I’m one of your best students, a trustworthy student!”


Slughorn smiled absentmindedly. “Much like your mother. Miss Malfoy, what I am about to tell you happened a long time ago. You must not allow it to reflect badly on your view of your parents, do you understand?” He waited for Rosie’s tiny nod and then continued. “Your mother, Hermione Granger, has long been regarded as the most brilliant witch of her age. She excelled at school, and was a dear friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”


“But they…they stopped Voldemort.”


“As did your mother.” Slughorn’s eyes were grave as they looked at her. “She was a vital part of the effort against Voldemort.”


“Then why hasn't she ever spoken about Mr Potter and Mr Weasley? Surely if you were a part of something like that, you would have a lifelong bond?”


Slughorn sighed. “That leads me to your father. He was a good student as well, although not quite on the same level as your mother. Unfortunately, he ran with a bad crowd. He was dragged into the Death Eaters. The story came out several years later. He had never been a willing member of the Death Eaters, and he had decided to remain an inconspicuous participant, to preserve his life. It was common at the time. However, there was an aspect of Draco which Voldemort was unaware of. Your mother and father had been in love during their time at school. It had been a secret relationship, clouded by the old House rivalries. Although they had broken up, those feelings still lingered. When Draco was ordered to kill your mother, he decided he could no longer do pretend to be a Death Eater, and fled. He remained in hiding until the end of the war. He was then captured by the Ministry of Magic, and stood trial. Hermione protected him, and their relationship came to light. Many could not understand how Hermione Granger, protector of the innocent, could stand by the side of an accused Death Eater and declare her love for him. It caused a rift in her relationship with Harry and Ron. An irreparable rift by all accounts. Even when Draco was found innocent, they could not bring themselves to repair that break.”


“My father was a Death Eater?” Rosie felt a lump in her throat. The man that she had adored all her life, who had sat with her on his knee, who had bought her ice cream, let her dance on the top of his feet, teasingly tugged at her hair, was a lie. 


“He was an accused Death Eater,” Slughorn corrected gently. “Many pretended to give their allegiance to keep their loved ones safe.”


“My mother didn’t.” Rosie stood up, and swung her bag onto her shoulder. “Thank you Professor.” 


Slughorn watched as she left the room, her feet hitting the floor hard. She paused in the corridor, her mind spinning. Running to Gryffindor tower, pushing past the students in the corridors, she flung herself onto her bed, and rummaged in her bag for parchment and a quill. Jamming the nib of the quill into a pot of ink, she dragged the feather across the parchment, splattering violet ink everywhere. Unable to think past the roaring in her ears, she scrawled. “When were you planning on telling me that Dad was a Death Eater? And how could you marry him Mum, knowing that he was everything you had fought against?”


She sealed the letter and tossed it onto her bedspread, staring at the creamy envelope. None of it made sense. Her parents had always been vociferous in their contempt of Death Eaters and everything they stood for. They had never mentioned that her mother had been instrumental in the fall of Voldemort, or that her father had stood in Voldemort’s inner circle. How could parents keep that kind of information away from a daughter that they professed to love?


Hermione and Draco sat at their kitchen table staring at their daughter’s angry writing. Draco swallowed. “How did she find out?”


Hermione leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. “Someone will have given her some garbled version, that doesn’t take into account all the circumstances.”


“But the fact remains. I was a Death Eater. It will make me a hypocrite.”


“She’s our daughter. She’ll understand.”


Draco watched as his wife pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards herself and began to write a letter back. “What if this gets out? What if she’s bullied because of what I was?”


Hermione paused and looked at Draco. “Will you pull yourself together, for Merlin’s sake? Stop being so pathetic! You always said it didn’t matter what the world thought of us, it was what we knew to be true. That’s done us well enough so far, and I’m sure it’ll do just as well for Rosie. Now, be quiet and let me write this letter.” She lifted her face so that Draco could kiss her and then resumed writing.



The letter for Rosie arrived at breakfast a couple of days later. The envelope landed on top of her toast, and as she gingerly picked it up, trying to avoid touching the smears of butter and marmalade, she saw her mother’s neat handwriting. Flicking open the letter, she began reading.


Darling Rosie,


I know that the news of your father’s past will have come as a surprise, and no one regrets that more than I. I did wonder many times if it would have been wise to tell you of our history, but hoped that it would never touch your life. Given that you’ve managed to make it to your sixth year before it ever came up, I was hoping that you would be protected. Unfortunately, fate seems to have a nasty way of dealing out the hand of cards we least want when we least expect it.


Yes, your father was a Death Eater. And I can imagine precisely how this makes you feel, given that he has always openly despised them. What you must understand is that your father comes from a family where support to Voldemort was a way of life. He was brought into that world without wanting to be, and he thought that he would be able to ride out the war in the relative safety of Voldemort’s inner circle. I know that seems like cowardice, and to an extent, it is. But being in the Death Eaters was no guarantee of safety. Many of them were tortured and killed. Your father was never involved in any crime, and he fled Voldemort after being ordered to kill me.


You see, he loved me. We had fallen in love during our final year at Hogwarts, and I had ended it, believing that the differences between us were too irreconcilable for us to ever be together permanently. It broke my heart. All the time that I was fighting with Harry and Ron, I was praying that we would never come across Draco, that I would never have to raise my wand against him. That prayer was answered, but I was never able to move on with my life. I spent every minute of every day missing him. 


When I learnt that he was to stand trial as a Death Eater, and that he had no support from anyone, I knew I had to help him. I decided that I would keep our romantic involvement a secret and remain completely professional. I told myself again and again that what I was doing was protecting human rights, not endeavouring to protect the man that I had loved for so long, even though I knew that was precisely what I was trying to do. Our relationship began again, and I knew that I could trust whatever he was telling me. I defended him, and a court that was biased against him found him innocent. Rosie, I think that has to tell you something about the strength of your father’s story: that a Ministry desperate to convict him had no option but to find him innocent. 


The one part of this story that remains unresolved is the rift between Harry, Ron and myself. To say the least, your father had somewhat a stormy relationship with Harry and Ron at school. In fact, he was absolutely vile to them. Harry and Ron were willing to see only the possibility that he was a Death Eater, and they were unable to accept the fact that I loved him. We argued, and they walked away from me at the time when I needed them most. 


My darling daughter, please understand that your father is still the man that you thought he was. The fact that he had to go through so much when he was younger does not affect the fact that he has been a wonderful parent to you. He is your father and always will be. 


All my love




Rosie stared at the letter, its edges being crumpled as she clutched at it. Her mother was so completely devoted to her father, that was something that she had known all her life. The history that lay behind their relationship, or at least what she knew from a couple of paragraphs, hinted at a much deeper bond than she could ever have guessed. What was she meant to do? Accept that her father had facets to his past that were best left untouched? Pretend that she had never been told about her murky family history?


She was still staring at the letter, although she had been able to release her hold slightly, when James walked past. “Why, if it isn’t Rosie.” He swooped down and snatched the letter from her hand. “What are you reading?”


She jumped up. “Give that back right now Potter!”


“Well, we are touchy this morning, more so than usual! What is it, a love letter?” He lowed his voice to a faux-scandalised whisper, and then began to read the letter. “Let’s see…’My darling daughter’. Your mother is ever so affectionate. I just get letters begging me to start behaving.”


Rosie’s heart was pounding in her chest. A history that she was unable to deal with, something that she was struggling to even begin to come to terms with, was about to be unveiled to the Gryffindor table that was now listening so attentively. “Give it back now.” She thought she was going to vomit, her stomach churning uneasily.


“It would have been wise to tell you of our history. Gosh, Miss Perfect Rosalind has a dark secret does she?” Without waiting for a response, James skimmed through to the next paragraph. “Yes, your father was a Death Eater.”


He didn’t seem to realise what he had just said, too caught up in the glorious moment of basking in everyone’s attention. The Gryffindor table sat, waiting for the punch line. Rosie’s mouth fell open, her breath gasping out of her as she saw stars flashing behind her eyes. James muttered the line again. “Yes, your father was a Death Eater.”


Rosie, acting on instinct alone, pulled her wand from her robes and shouted “Incendio!” She watched as the parchment shrivelled into itself, the incriminating words lost to the air. 


James stared at her. “You’re the daughter of a Death Eater?”


She licked lips that were rapidly drying out and grasped at random words. “I…it’s not…”


“The spawn of a Death Eater.” His tone was coldly disdainful and he paused, giving her the chance to reflect on her demotion from ‘daughter’ to ‘spawn’. “How can you sit in here and show your face like you’ve done nothing wrong?”


“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she whispered, but James was pounding on relentlessly.


“Have you no idea what those bastards put my father through? Put the entire wizarding world through? And you act like you aren’t ashamed of who you are?”


“I’m not!” She pulled her spine upright, hoping it would infuse her with self-righteous determination. “My father was forced to join the Death Eaters by his family. He never committed any crime. He was found innocent by a Ministry desperate to convict him. I think that should tell you something of his virtue!” She parroted her mother’s words, trying to imbue herself with some of Hermione’s faultless devotion. “I will not be ashamed of my heritage. As far as I’m concerned, being the son of a man who deserts his friends because they won’t do precisely what he wants is much worse. Maybe before you start throwing stones at me because of my father’s perceived crimes you would do well to ask your father about how he treated my mother.”


Raising her chin proudly, she turned her back on James Potter and walked away from him, trying to deafen herself to the whispers that rose up in her wake. 

AN: Hope you enjoyed, all constructive criticism appreciated. For my regular Dramione readers, I'm aiming to have the first chapter of 'Forbidden Fruit' up by this time tomorrow, so keep an eye out for it!  Petitesorciere xxx


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