The Dark Lord has won. The world belongs to him, and I belong to Draco Malfoy—my husband, my anchor. To me he is gentle, devoted, a man who softens only within the walls of our home. I’ve begged him for children, for a family, for something pure amidst all this ruin. But he always finds a reason to say not yet. I thought he merely advised the Dark Lord, serving as one of many faceless consultants. The truth is darker—he is the High Reeve, executioner and enforcer of the new regime. His hands are stained with too much blood, and he cannot imagine cradling something innocent with them. To him, fatherhood feels like a crime he hasn’t earned the right to commit.