The Dreamer's Curse

The Broken Promise

[Chapter 28]

The wedding was moved up six days—the first of August—which meant that the Burrow was bustling with activity in the days before the Delacours were to arrive. Mrs Weasley only allowed Draco and me leeway because we had to take care of Danny. 

Danny was proving quite keen. When Draco would call his name, Danny would sit up or fix his clear blue eyes onto Draco’s grey ones. He seems to understand our conversations when we would attempt to stimulate his little mind with sock puppets—Draco gets carried away with these things. We start out with a harmless fairy tale, and end with elaborate stories Draco spins together. This, of course, is where Draco and I begin to argue—especially when the story turns violent. 

“You can’t tell a story with that much violence! He’s barely eight months old, Draco! I’d rather his first word not take the form of,” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “kill, carnage, battle, or sword!”

“Alright, alright, but the story is boring without some action,” he whinged. We sat in the centre of Ron’s room where Draco had been bunking with Ron and Harry. 

“There’s a balance between exciting and explicit!” I argued.

Danny loves it when this happens, and cannot contain his joy—he babbles and coos and laughs until we end up laughing along with him. 

“At bed time,” Draco smiled, “let’s just read him a book.”

Danny was sitting up and attempting to crawl. I took a photo of Alice from my pouch and she smiled down at Danny.  “Muggle or Magic?”

Draco shrugged. “I’m a tolerant uncle.”

“Oh, so you’re his uncle now?”

“Well, you’re his aunt, aren’t you? We can’t have him calling me Draco, can we?”

“I should think not,” I smirked. “Dragon might be a nice nickname though, right Danny? Can you call him Dragon? Ouch!”

Draco had shoved me over. His eyes glittered with mischief. “You deserved it.”

“We need a camera. Danny’s growing so fast…”

Draco propped Danny on his lap and the little tyke gurgled with happiness. “Mr Weasley’s got a few spare parts down in his shed. Maybe he’s got an old camera.”

“An old analog one,” I said softly. My eyes remained fixed on Danny, sparks were coming out from the toy wand he was holding. “We could charm it to develop moving wizard photos instead of those unmoving Muggle ones.”

“You’re worried,” Draco declared. It was not a question. “You’re worried we won’t survive.”

I scoffed. “I’m not worried. Terrified, yes, but not worried.”

The silence between us stretched as far as our fears could take us. It reached into the crevices of our mind and snatched any sort of security we’d thought we had. My heart beat loudly against my chest, so that if anyone doubted my nerves or thought me calm by my exterior, my pulse would surely betray me. Surely, Harry—running errands in some part of the house—felt the same way.

“I think we’ve cheated our way out of errands,” Draco said to break the tension between us. I laughed.

“Well, we’d better make use of it. I suppose Mr Weasley’s in his shed…”

Fortunately, Mr Weasley was in his shed, although he jumped in surprise when we’d come in, thinking we had been Mrs Weasley. He was bent over a broken motorcycle, mumbling to himself about breaks.