The story of how the newest little Malfoy got his name.

The glass separating the itty bitty witches and wizards from the rest of the world was a large pane that stretched from waist high, to the ceiling. It took up a good portion of the room, making sure that any new parent could peek at their offspring and proudly point them out to curious visitors. Pink blankets, blue blankets and pale duckling yellows abounded in the room. The stone-faced grey eyed man at the window idly wondered if the little people who lived in there temporarily would protest that much enforced cheerfulness. He would have.

The thought had idly wandered into his brain and it just as quickly wandered out. He heaved a great sigh and relaxed against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, and continued to gaze at the little bassinet that held his attention. Hair so fair, that it looked absent, with eyes the color of quicksilver, the occupant of bassinet number 14, stirred just a little in his blue blanket. Little breaths huffed through tiny lungs, while his little nostrils flared just a bit at whatever odour had the gall to assault them. Wearing a little half smile the man watched as his son and heir tested the blanket with his little legs before slumber claimed him again.

A dark haired man approached him from down the corridor, making sure to shuffle his feet to announce himself. Many unfortunate individuals had learned the hard way that to surprise this particular wizard could be the last thing they ever did.
"It's ok Potter, I heard you coming down the stairwell," came the low voice from near the glass. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Harry stepped up next to him and paused.
"I didn't make a sound."

Still unable to tear his gaze away from the blue blanket's occupant, Draco tapped his temple with his forefinger. Harry rolled his eyes and breathed, "Bloody Legilimens," as Draco grinned. "If it helps at all Potter, I can only hear you when you're particularly stressed, and not concentrating on your Occlumency. But you were practically yelling at me not to hex you when you were walking here... And don't exaggerate. I've only maimed people who sneak up on me. Never killed. Outside a battle situation, of course."
"Of course," Harry concurred facetiously, shaking his head.

"Hey Potter," came a slightly softer tone from the blond.
"Yes?"
"Does it ever go away?"
"What?" asked Harry, knowingly.
"The fear," came the blunt reply.

Glancing at the man sideways before looking back at the babies, knowing he hated appearing vulnerable, Harry thought back to the birth of his own son, and replied, as honestly as he could. "I don't think so. James is almost a year old now, and I still feel the fear every single day. When I watch him fall asleep in his mother's arms. When I pick him up in the morning when he wakes up, all fuzzy and warm. Even when he sits in his high chair plotting how to launch more food at his father's head... I am afraid."

Draco nodded, eyes blazing.
"I think about everything I've done. The people I've captured, the ones I've..." He choked off the end of his statement. "If I even think about something hurting him... causing him pain..."
"It feels like your insides are on fire. Like all you've got inside is rage," Harry interrupted grimly.
"I'd kill for him. If something came even close to him. I'd kill, no questions asked." Draco continued as Harry trailed off.

Harry nodded and then asked,"Would you die for him?"
"I'd step in front of the killing curse to keep him safe," the new father replied with no hesitation.
"Welcome to being a parent then Malfoy," smiled Harry.

"But what if I'm rubbish at it?" Draco finally asked, turning to Harry and looking strangely child-like in his worry. Harry snorted,"We were ALL rubbish when we started you know."
"Look at what I dealt with growing up Potter. Yes, my parents loved me, but they had a strange way of showing it. I was so used to house elves, I didn't even think twice before ordering them around. The only reason Hermione allows Peaky and Mopsy in our home is because they're free elves who refuse to leave us."
Harry nodded, "Yes, but she also sees the way you treat them, and the way they respond to you. She's no fool Malfoy"
"She married me," he deadpanned.
Harry laughed, "Listen, do you love him?"
"Almost as much as I love his mother," came the reply.

Harry smiled and said, "Then you'll be just fine Malfoy, and so will he."

Draco nodded jerkily and looked back at the window just as the Malfoy heir decided to inform the world that he was hungry and wanted his mother. Immediately. No mere mediwitches were going to keep him from her if they wanted their eardrums to remain intact. His imperious demands had better be met, or there would be consequences. He was a Malfoy dammit, and they had better remember that fact.

Watching the smile on Draco's face as they tried to calm the annoyed infant, Harry knew he had spoken the truth.
"Hey Malfoy?"
"Yeah?" came the absent reply.
"You guys decided on a name yet?" Harry asked, slightly nervous, knowing the two had been arguing about it for months now. When those arguments were between normal couples, they could get heated. Throw in the fact that these two were BOTH Unspeakables, and it came as no surprise that their house had had to have a couple of renovations after a few of Hermione's hormone riddled reactions to the names Draco suggested.

Neither one wanted to compromise much. Draco wanted to preserve at least some of his heritage with a name that was important to his family, or at least his ancestors. He had been genuinely hurt when Hermione had exclaimed that no child of hers was going to have anything to do with that kind of legacy.
That had been the first time he had walked out on an argument.
She had yelled it at him defiantly, and then watched him stand, pain in his eyes, before he said, "The Malfoys are more than my father's misdeeds Granger. They always have been."

He had walked out the front door then. Leaving her sitting on the sofa in front of the fire. He hadn't gone far though; he would never be able to leave her for too long. He simply wasn't strong enough, and he was man enough to admit it.
To himself, if no one else.

She had come out to find him, an hour later, where he flew lazy circles around their private Quidditch pitch, lying back on his broom. It drove her insane with worry when he did that, and he avoided her seeing him do it as much as possible.

"Draco?" she called softly, knowing he would hear her.

He sat up and looked at her for a full minute before slowly flying down and dismounting. Saying nothing she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head lying on his chest. She cringed at his momentary hesitation before he raised his arms to hold her close. She felt him inhale the familiar smell of her hair. It was something he always did when he held her, and yet always denied. Smiling softly to herself, she realized she was arguing with him over nothing. There were generations of Malfoy names to choose from, they wouldn't have to settle on something they didn't like.
"Nicholas," he whispered into her hair.

Leaning back, she looked at him, and realized for the first time he had the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "What?"

"Nicholas," he repeated. "I want our son's name to be Nicholas."

She mouthed it to herself, and liking how it sounded, waited for his explanation.

"There was a portrait in my playroom, when I was a child. A young boy. He spoke to me, but only when we were alone. Taught me all sorts of games. I taught him English, and he taught me Russian."
"Russian?" she interrupted. He nodded before continuing.
"He said there was a portrait of him as an adult somewhere else in the mansion, but told me not to go looking for it. He said it was a portrait of him and his wife on their wedding day. He told me that they were dead, and had been for a long time. He was the closest thing I had to a best friend before I met Blaise.
I found his portrait on my 14th birthday.
I went looking for it. His own portrait had been moved to my private study when I outgrew the playroom. I didn't tell him I found it. And then I realized why he warned me not to go looking. His name wasn't just Nicholas. I had forgotten he would have a family name that might possibly be different from my own."
He paused and Hermione waited as patiently as she could, realizing he was lost in his own memories.

"Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov. Better known as Czar Nicholas." Without acknowledging her gasp of shock, he carried on.
"His portrait as an adult spoke to me, and said that for years our family had been cursed. Death and destruction followed us wherever we went. But the one thing Rasputin could never touch was our love. Every time a Malfoy has truly been in love, there has been nothing that could be done to change that fact. He said he wished this love for me. One so great that it would heal me of what had been and what was. I know they ended up murdered by the very people they ruled, but Nikolai and Alix had nothing but love for each other, right until the very end."

Looking back down at her he continued. "You are that love for me. You are the only thing I have ever wanted in my life. The only person I'd die for, kill for, nothing and no one else matters Granger, don't you understand", he said, truly desperate now, for reasons beyond even his own understanding.

"I like Nicholas", she whispered softly into the night air.

Holding her tighter, he answered,"It's a great second name, but I've always been partial to the way the initials DM go together. Deacon is a brilliant name, and so very much ours. No one else's."

Smiling at the memories he answered Harry Potter's question.

"Deacon Nicholas Malfoy"

Writer's Block has hit again, so this little one-shot came out of my re-reading my older fics for some inspiration to start back up again with Unspeakable.

This belongs in the same universe as my Unspeakable fic, but isn't in a clearly plotted timeline yet.
Inspiration from this came from Easter Bunny, so go read that if you haven't yet, and as always PLEASE REVIEW!