HK05i of 25 files

His form had yet not lost all her original brightness, nor appear’d less than archangel ruin’d, and th’ excess of glory obscur’d.
—Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I

Draco heard a whoosh of an activating Portkey and he rushed up the wobbly and dilapidated stairs of the Burrow.  He pushed open all the doors he came upon, until he found one open, a tired and frightened looking Octavian, staring at the empty carpet.  “Where is he?” Draco questioned, coming up to his younger brother, and taking his arm gently.  “Where’s Potter?”

“’Ome,” he whispered dejectedly, his large black eyes looking up at Draco with tears in his eyes.  “I sent ‘im ‘ome.”

“Merlin,” Draco whispered as he took Octavian into his arms, his younger brother beginning to cry quietly, perhaps from stress, exhaustion, and hormones.  He’d read that witches were often emotional during pregnancy; he gathered wizards were much the same.

“Shh, he’s safe,” Draco tried to sooth, his pale fingers shaking as he ran them through Octavian’s shoulder length hair.  “He’s safe—and we’re Malfoys.”

Oui,” Octavian agreed, nodding against Draco’s chest.  “Malfoys and Blacks.”

A hollow laugh erupted from Draco’s throat, which was the closest he could come to agreement as he heard the sound of shouts and screams coming from the garden.  The windows rattled as flashes of light erupted in the sky, but the brothers sat, silently comforting the other.

“What of Astoria?” Octavian quietly asked, his head now lying on a pillow in Draco’s lap, his hand wrapped protectively around his midsection.

“Daphne’s with her—and Viktor Krum,” Draco answered, taking a shaky breath.  His skin was still pallid from the stress of the previous year, but as he continued to run his fingers through Octavian’s golden hair, he noticed that it was almost back to its usual tone.  Now that he had killed Dumbledore, he had regained much favor for the Malfoy family with the Dark Lord, and as Octavian was his brother and it was rumored that he was turning Harry gray, his father’s position had been restored. 

He swallowed nervously, fearing the horrors that would come in the continued conflict.

“Have you thought of names?” Draco finally asked as the garden became silent again, though now doors were banging downstairs.  The Death Eaters must have begun searching the house for anyone else. 

He knew the answer, but he needed to keep Octavian occupied.

Oui,” Octavian whispered, a small smile on his lips.  “The Princes give names of Roman figures, so Romola for them and Lux pour Papa.”

“Romola,” Draco mused.  “For Romulus?”

Oui—et pour Rome.”

“Of course,” he drawled.

The Death Eaters were now a floor below him and he could hear Weasley and his lover—the other Weasley.  He shuddered at the thought.  He knew the Weasleys were blood traitors; it was common knowledge, after all, but to betray blood to the point of incest?  Draco knew the Blacks flirted with the obscene this way, but they never crossed the line.  Cousins married cousins, but siblings were foribidden from physical intimacy.  He remembered his mother telling him how she and her sisters each had a separate floor as soon as they hit puberty to discourage any unnatural affections.  Clearly the Weasleys should have done the same.

“Name,” a Death Eater growled, the sound carrying up the stairs.

“Fred Weasley,” was the fearless answer.

Draco couldn’t suppress the sniggers that rose within him.  The Weasleys wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret for long.

Octavian stretched and looked up at him.  “What do you know, mon frère?”

Their eyes met and as the questioning continued loudly, Draco thought it best to answer him, if only for the reason of keeping him occupied.  “Potter and I caught Ronald Weasley in a compromising position with someone earlier—it appears it was his own brother.”

“Really?” Octavian asked, surprised, his eyebrows raised.  “But I thought—‘e was so adamant zat Henri Jacques was straight—and it is an offence to ze old ways, to ze gods.”

“Yes, well, it appears Ronald was trying to convince himself that he was straight as well,” he drawled, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. 

Mes dieux.”

“My gods indeed,” Draco agreed. 

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs and then a familiar figure stood in the door, leaning against the frame.  “Draco,” Bellatrix greeted happily, “and Octavian.  My two favorite nephews.”

“We’re your only nephews,” Draco argued and Octavian laughed, his eyes asking about Harry’s status as part of the family.

“He doesn’t count at the moment,” Draco teased. 

“If you say.”

Draco returned his attention to Bellatrix, who was dressed in midnight blue robes befitting a wedding, a hat perched on her head, an enchanted lily pinned onto it.  “I didn’t know you were invited.”

“I wasn’t,” she agreed solemnly.  “The most dreadful oversight, I’m sure.—Now that I’m here, however, perhaps it would be best if we adjourn to Malfoy Manor.  I find I do not care for the décor,” she looked over the room with a snarl, “and I know Lucius wishes to see both his sons and, well, until today we convicted Death Eaters couldn’t walk about without masks.  The most enjoyable raid, Draco.  I’m so sorry you missed it.”

“A tragedy,” Draco drawled, agreeing.  “However, I saw the beginning from the window and would prefer if Octavian were not thrown in with the common rabble for interrogation.”

“Yes, well,” Bellatrix said, sauntering forward.  “As much as I would love to ask Octavian where his husband has got to, I know he won’t answer me and both Lucius and Cissy would have my wand if I touched a hair on his adorable head.  Sadly, the Dark Lord agrees with them.”  Her eyes widened dramatically, her red lips moving smoothly through the words.  “He doesn’t want our only ally in that marriage alienated, now, do we?”

Octavian shifted uncomfortably.

“Quite.”  Draco’s eyes flashed in a silent warning. 

She glanced out the window.  “Oh, it looks like the guests are being allowed to leave.   I’m certain you’ll want to bid farewell to the Sisters Greengrass,” Bellatrix teased.  “It appears that that Quidditch player is escorting them home given your absence earlier from the lawn.”

“Fleur is such a matchmaker,” Octavian said, his eyes alight with happiness as he slowly sat up.  “She decided zat Krum and Daphne would do well together, and she was right, it would seem.”

“How intriguing,” Bellatrix agreed, helping him to his feet.  “Now, come, little cousin.  There is much to do and you mustn’t be too late going home otherwise that Lord Black of yours would worry.”

Draco sighed.  Octavian really wasn’t being given a choice, but at least he was safe from the Death Eaters and would soon return to his husband’s arms.

English to French.

Oui—et pour Rome. Yes—and for Rome.

Mon frère.  My brother.

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