In two more months Lucius is released. He is pardoned and his record expunged, although it comes with a hefty warning from Kingsley Shacklebolt that if he ever slips up again, it'll be the Dementor's Kiss. Thankfully, I know that Lucius will not make the same mistake twice. He won't so much as jaywalk for the rest of his life.
Lucius couldn't be happier and honestly, neither could I. He takes me to bed within two hours of returning and spends the next two torturing me to ecstasy. I fall asleep and when I wake he's next to me, alert, staring at the ceiling.
"That was a close one, wasn't it," he says after a few minutes. I know what he means. I nod against his chest. He rolls over and I do the same, thinking that he's ready to sleep. But I feel him turn back over and then mold against me. His arm drapes over me and his hand comes to rest in front of my face. He is holding a small velvet box.
"I know you said that diamonds were empty promises," he says, his voice rumbling pleasantly through my back. "But I'm fairly sure that that didn't mean I should stop buying them for you."
I laugh and feel tears welling up at the same time. That's just like him, to use my own words against me. And when did he have time to go out and buy this? I open the box. It's a pendant, not big but not small, and while it glistens like a diamond it is an odd amorphous shade of orange-red.
"It's a fire diamond," he explains. "Very rare. The color comes from dragon remains being mixed in with the coal and being compressed over time. They can make them synthetically, but they're never as vibrant. I--" he pauses, noticing my face. "What?"
"You got me a dead dragon," I grin.
His lips twitch. "It's probably only a scale or two. One dead dragon can make ten thousand of those…but how often does a dragon die in a coal bed?"
"You tell me. You seem to be the expert on the subject." I can't help teasing him; he seems to be in an excellent mood and it's been months since we were able to talk.
"Now you're just making fun of me and the dragon that died to further your beauty."
I laugh again and carefully take the pendant out of the box. It is on a delicate gold chain. I unhook it and he reaches to help me fasten it. His hands are warm on the back of my neck.
"I'm not going to get in trouble with magical creature rights groups for wearing this, am I?" I can't resist asking.
"If they complain about a dragon that died sixty thousand years ago, they're imbeciles." He's half on top of me, appraising me. "What's gotten into you, anyway? Say thank you, wife."
"Thank you, wife."
This time he laughs, real laughter that has only mirth behind it. It is a sound I haven't heard in quite some time. His fingers toy with the necklace, gently so he won't break the chain. The laughter leaves him as quickly as it came and he turns serious.
"I love you, Narcissa."
My heart skips a beat and I'm pretty sure he notices it. Damn, here come the tears again. Am I really so deprived of that phrase? Yes. I can count on two hands the number of times he's said it to me and meant it. This time is number seven, but the earnestness with which he said it might make it count as two. Or three.
His lips curve into a lazy smile. "This would be the time for me to mock you for being a sentimental woman." He kisses my shoulder. "Mock." Then a little lower down my arm. "Mock." Then the back of my hand. "Mock."
"Oh, Malfoy, you are really buttering me up," I recover. "Is there something you want?"
He pauses and actually looks a little unsure.
"Well, spit it out."
He bites his lip. It's almost disconcerting how unguarded he is. He has been this way since he got back, as if he decided in Azkaban that playing the game all the time was too much. "I was thinking…of maybe…another child?"
I'm dumbfounded. He hadn't expressed much interest in another child after Draco. "I…aren't we a little old?"
He frowns. "I'm 45 and you're 40. Is that old?"
"It's riskier for a woman to have a baby after 40."
He nods. "All right. It was just a thought."
I search his face, confused. It's not that I'm averse to having another baby, I just never expected him to want one. He doesn't appear disappointed but I know how good he is at masking such things. Would he even have brought it up if it wasn't something he was serious about?
Probably not. Game or not, he is still a man of few words, so the ones he chooses to say are always important.
"How about," I say, turning over and resting my chin on his chest, "we give it a try and que sera, sera?"
And that's how I end up on my back in St. Mungo's a year later delivering twins and shouting that Lucius Malfoy is a no-good sperm bucket, all the while clutching his hand so hard that it later turns an interesting shade of purple and he won't let me forget it. He finally relents when I threaten to name the children Sperm and Bucket, after him.
They're fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. He agreed to let me name them since he had a monopoly over naming Draco. I'm sure he regrets that now. I name the girl Callahan, Cally for short, which he informs me sounds like a vacuous muggle cheerleader's name. I ask him how he knows what a muggle cheerleader is and he shuts up. He never asks me why I picked it and I realize it's because he never heard the kid's name that day; by the time he regained consciousness Morris, Blunt, and Reegan were the targets and the fourth remained a nameless fugitive.
The boy I have more trouble with. My mind seems to draw a blank. I know Lucius wouldn't mind a Lucius, Jr., but I'm not sure I can handle two of them. Forget me, I'm not sure the world can handle two of them. I suggest Frederick; Lucius tells me we're not raising the Grand Duke of Austria-Hungary. I propose Augustus and he seems mildly interested until he realizes the kid would be nicknamed Gus. Annoyed, I tell him I'm going to name him Narcissus and be done with it. He chokes on the brandy he's drinking and coughs for a good five minutes.
It becomes a game. I say Beauregard and he says Richelieu. I throw a glass at him and he retreats, cackling. He would want to name his child after someone associated with the phrase 'Reign of Terror'. He says Matthieu and I respond that he can only be called Matthieu if we are Malfois, which horrifies him because it translates unfavorably. I think it's hilarious and Lucius accuses me of trying to give our children emotional complexes before they can even walk. Apparently that's his job and it doesn't start until preschool.
It goes on. The poor child is unnamed for almost a month. Draco, who is home for summer, thinks we've lost our minds. He tells us to get out of the house and offers to watch the kids. I should have known the snot was up to something.
When we come back he coolly informs us that he has picked a name for his little brother. He holds out a certificate and explains that since I was supposed to name the kid and many of the names on the Black side of the family came from stars or constellations or astrology (as his own had), he had picked the name of a star. Appearing completely serious, he tells us that his brother is now named Betelgeuse.
The look on Lucius's face must have purported murder because Draco only lasted twenty seconds before he burst into a fit of laughter. He laughed so hard he cried and got the hiccups. Draco lay on the floor for a half hour recovering. Lucius didn't talk to him for two days. It didn't help that every time Draco saw him he snickered.
That gives us the motivation we needed. We don't put it past Draco to make it permanent next time. Three days after his prank, just when Lucius has begun to be civil to his eldest, it comes to me. Lucius is half asleep while brushing his teeth and I have green face cream on.
"Phineas."
"Hm?"
"Phineas. You know, like Phineas Nigellus."
He considers. "Fin for short?" He looks as though he can't decide if he likes it.
I shrug. "One syllable. It's easy to yell."
He nods as though I have just made the best argument of my life. "In hindsight," he mutters after he has rinsed his mouth, "that might be the mistake we made with Draco." He places his toothbrush on the counter. "One too many syllables."
Draco seems to like being around his little brother and sister and he babysits them every few weeks. I'm impressed with him until Lucius informs me that he does it because men with babies are girl-magnets, sort of like men with cute pets, and he's trying to meet someone. I dislike my children being put in the same category as pets and tell Draco he is shallow for using such tactics.
They work, though. Damn it all, they work.
So here I am, six years later, trying not to cry and failing miserably and tempering Lucius's resigned annoyance. Cally and Fin are five and behave as such. At least Fin does; Cally sits primly by her father's side, her swinging feet the only indication of her youthful energy. Fin is all over the place and I give up on him, determined not to miss one son's wedding trying to control the other. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lucius pluck a hymn book from Fin's hands with deadly speed. It's a move he's perfected by now. Cally giggles.
A minute passes and the music starts. I look over, suspicious because Fin has been quiet. Lucius is giving him The Eye and it's working. I have the distinct feeling that some people in the church are finding this very entertaining. People look at Lucius when he is with the children like he is a brand new father, in that syrupy, amused, and slightly sympathetic way. For heaven's sake, the man is almost fifty. Though I must admit the second time around he is doing everything he didn't the first and it's kind of nice.
I watch my son get married to a pretty mediwitch named Calixta Vergaros. She is from an old pureblood family in Spain. He's besotted with her and I hope to hell she doesn't break his heart. Dark things lie down that path. I squelch my motherly instincts and watch them kiss.
I can't help but think of my own wedding and the cold, stiff, arrogant man I married a quarter of a century ago. It had taken nearly twenty of those twenty five years for him to thaw, but…these last six years had been worth it. The insanity of the past seems so far removed. I was right. In the years since the war he hasn't so much as jaywalked. We still have our arguments and plenty of them, but not once have I been as angry as I was that one night when I shouted my ridiculous metaphor about precious stones.
He shoots a small, rueful smile at me. Fin and Cally have reached their limit and as people file out of the church they zoom toward where Draco and his new wife are standing and accepting congratulations. Calixta is wonderful with the kids; she scoops up Cally and puts the veil on her head. She'll be a good mother.
"So," Lucius says, his arm going around my waist, "how long do you think it's going to be before I have to start buying Cally diamonds?"
"Eh," I say, watching her play with Calixta's necklace, "I trust that she'll be able to find herself a nice rich trophy husband to do that."
He chuckles and walks away to shake his son's hand.
-FINIT-