Wednesday, 5 June 1980

"Exciting day," Rodolphus offered a cigar, but Lucius brushed past to pour himself a sizable glass of Firewhisky instead.

"Save those for after," he muttered tersely, draining his tumbler in one go and not hesitating before refilling it.

"You'd better take it easy," Bellatrix's voice wafted from the doorway of the study. "Cissy will kill you if you're too drunk to hold your son when he gets here."

For once, it was good advice. Still, Lucius whipped around to glare at her intrusion. "Shouldn't you be upstairs with the rest of the women?" he snapped. Bellatrix shrugged and glided over to his side, plucking the bottle from his hand and taking a swig directly from it, ignoring the glass he offered.

"Cissy kicked me out. Probably for the best," she conceded, moving over to drape herself across a settee, taking the Firewhisky with her.

"What did you do?" snorted Rodolphus, who had disregarded Lucius's refusal and lit the cigar anyway.

"I just told her the pain couldn't possibly be worse than the Cruciatus curse. I was just observing, really, don't know why it got her in such a snit."

Lucius's eyes slid shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose. At least Narcissa would not be the only one suffering over the course of her labor, though their trials were of a very different sort. He was unaware that he was pacing the floor until Bellatrix snapped at him to sit down lest she hex him into stillness. Scarcely aware of his surroundings, he obediently sank into an armchair by the fire.

With her multiple miscarriages over the past three years, he suspected it would be too much to hope for an easy birth. All he could wish for, for her sake, was that the child was a healthy boy and they would not have to go through the ordeal of any additional failed pregnancies. That this could end as Angelique's pregnancy had was not a notion he would entertain. That Narcissa had struggled and suffered so much already, and the worst may still be yet to come...

Nor would he allow himself think of Lettie Avery. Nott had his heir and a dead wife. No mother for his son. Laetitia had gotten pregnant within months of her wedding and, as far as he knew, had an effortless pregnancy. A stillborn child would be devastating, but if he were to lose his wife, there would be no return... A knock on the door mercifully distracted him from this morbid line of thought, and the Parkinsons appeared in the study moments later, shown in by an elf.

Ari passed their small baby over to Britt and followed the elf deeper into the Manor to join Narcissa and Druella. Britt beamed down at his daughter, but his grin faltered as he looked up at the three stony faces staring back at him.

"Er, hello," he began awkwardly. "This is Pansy." His eyes found Bellatrix hopefully; perhaps he felt that a woman would show some interest in the girl, but she merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement and took a long pull from the bottle she still held. At last he seemed to decide that Lucius was the least threatening of the three, but still approached him with caution.

"You're doing much better than I was," he began encouragingly. "I was an absolute wreck when Ari went into labor— after a while I just had to go into the room to be with her."

"How… progressive of you," Lucius took a sip of whisky, privately certain that his own wife would murder him on the spot if he were to burst in on her at such a time.

"It was amazing," Britt continued, warming to the subject. "And these past two months have been…" He broke off with an helpless laugh. "Well, terrifying. And exhausting. But the most incredible thing in the world. I can hardly begin to describe—" Suddenly, something sharp whizzed between them. Britt sprang away, sheltering Pansy in panic; Lucius turned with an irritated glance towards Bellatrix and Rodolphus, each of whom held several darts, and the latter's arm was still extended towards the board behind Lucius's head.

"What?" Bellatrix asked innocently at his expression, taking aim herself. "We fancied a game."

Britt had retreated to the opposite end of the study, gently hushing and bouncing the now-fussing infant, and Lucius was not inclined to follow him. He was fairly certain that neither of them had poor enough aim to actually hit him, even after a few drinks, and if one of them did so, at least it would be a distraction from what was happening upstairs.

Several owls came in, it was a normal Wednesday in the rest of the world, but Lucius found his eyes could not focus on the words and tossed them aside irritably. He couldn't even find the energy to tell Rodolphus off for picking the parchments up and perusing the missives casually; hopefully it was nothing confidential or private.

After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was just over two hours, Lucius stood abruptly. It wasn't the wisest move— he almost staggered and knew he should have stopped drinking some time ago.

"Bellatrix," he barked, "go see what's happening."

She balked, not entirely out of laziness. "If there was anything to know, my mother would have come to tell us," she insisted, examining her nails to avoid his gaze. Lucius scowled.

"Could you just go?"

Bellatrix shot her husband a glance, perhaps hoping he would give her an excuse to stay, but Rodolphus was sprawled out on the couch, head thrown back, fast asleep.

"While you're up there," ventured Britt tentatively from the other side of the study where he still sat with Pansy, reading the comics section of the Prophet, "Could you remind Ari that it's time to…" he gestured vaguely to the small bundle tucked in his arm. Bellatrix stared at him, nonplussed.

"Time to what?" she asked bluntly. He flushed slightly.

"Feed Pansy," he muttered. She rolled her eyes but stretched and sprang lightly to her feet at last, shoot Lucius a final disdainful look before sashaying from the room. She returned only minutes later, looking thoroughly shaken.

"I won't lie to you Malfoy, it doesn't look good," Bellatrix announced grimly, pulling a cigarette from the pocket of her robes. She tried to light it with a snap as she usually did, but after several unsuccessful attempts with trembling fingers, she gave a shriek of frustration and flung it across the room. The sound woke Rodolphus, who sat up and looked around sleepily.

"S'it over?" he mumbled, but one look around at the faces in the room gave him his answer.

The door opened again, and Ari materialized. She looked visibly disheveled and did not speak to anyone, instead heading straight to her husband and daughter. Britt rose and gave her a brief, firm kiss, and passed Pansy over. She sighed as she fussed over the baby, leaning her head against his chest. He slid an arm around her shoulders and stroked the short, dark hair back from his wife's face.

Lucius averted his eyes as though witnessing something perverse.

"Is there another room we could use?" Ari asked, and he nodded without looking up.

"My elf will show you," he gestured with his drink and Dobby appeared to take Ari to another sitting room. Britt followed eagerly, and the next half hour passed in relative quiet, though the silence was punctuated by the sound of Bellatrix methodically shredding pages from one of his books and tossing them in the fire for the amusement of watching them burn.

When the door reopened he continued to stare into his glass, and so was surprised when Ari dropped heavily into a chair beside him. "I'm going back up in a moment," she began briskly. Her cropped black hair was parted down the middle and she tucked each side behind her ears. "I just wanted to let you know that… she's doing alright. It's not great, I won't lie, but she's so strong—"

"She's not," Lucius argued in a strangled voice, dragging a hand down his face. "She's barely been eating, she's hardly had the strength to—"

"That's not what I meant," Ari interrupted. "You know it's not. She wants to pull through because this baby means more than anything in the world to her, so I know that she will. I know it," she insisted. Her large brown eyes, which he'd always found unpleasant and somewhat bulbous, were fixed on him with such absolute confidence that he did feel reassured for a split second.

Then, "But anything could happen. Look at Lettie—"

"She is not Laetitia Nott!" exclaimed Ari indignantly. "And I certainly won't tell her you'd dare make that comparison. She's a hundred times the woman Lettie could ever be." She paused, and had the decency to look chagrined. "Not to, er, speak ill of the deceased." Abruptly, she rose to her feet. "I'd best return. Is there anything you'd like me to tell her?"

A million thoughts flooded his mind. One in particular that he still could not voice, to Ari or Narcissa or anyone else. There were no words of support he could offer that didn't seem trite, and he had no desire to upset or distract her at this time. Silently, he shook his head.

Some time after her departure, the door opened once more. All heads turned eagerly towards the sound, but it was only Cygnus Black, accompanied by his sister. Walburga Black looked distinctly worse than she had when he'd seen her at Orion's funeral last year; the unexpected loss of her husband followed so closely by her beloved son's demise had taken a toll. Though emaciated and rather wild-eyed, her voice had not lost its stridency and she announced, "Well, I suppose I should go see how my niece is faring. A nasty business, childbirth, and—"

"Aunt Walburga," Bellatrix sprang to her feet, uncharacteristically mollifying as she pressed a kiss to the older woman's sunken cheek. "Come sit with me and Rodolphus for a while first. Roddy," she hissed over her shoulder, "get her a glass of brandy."

Rodolphus did not look thrilled at this turn of events, but obeyed nonetheless. Bellatrix threaded her arm through her aunt's, acknowledging her father's grateful glance with a nod. However, this left Cygnus quite on his own, and after a moment, he plodded across the room to sit beside his son-in-law. Lucius wordlessly summoned a wine glass and crystal decanter of Bordeaux, recalling that none of the Blacks aside from Bellatrix showed much of a taste for hard liquor, and Cygnus poured himself a measure. They drank in silence for several long minutes, trying to block out the sound of Walburga's droning which seemed to oscillate in topic between the horrors of giving birth and open criticisms of Bellatrix for not having done so yet. Lucius was rather impressed with Bella's restraint, and was furthermore beholden to her on his wife's behalf, for keeping the hag occupied and out of the birthing chamber.

"My first grandchild," Cygnus mused. "Well," he amended with a heavy sigh, "first that I'll ever meet."

Lucius wanted to curse the man for alluding to Andromeda on such an occasion. It was in doubly poor taste to suggest that his disowned daughter's child by a Mudblood might be one he'd even be interested in knowing.

"And Cissy the baby of the lot, too," he went on, oblivious. "Perhaps you'll have more luck than Druella and I did... three girls and no sons, and now with Regulus gone and Sirius disowned, there are no boys to carry on the na—"

"I don't really feel like discussing how the Black name will die out after this generation ends, Cygnus," Lucius snarled. The older man blinked at Lucius's uncharacteristic rudeness— if nothing else, Lucius could always be counted on for civility, unlike his other son-in-law— but after a moment his offended expression softened.

"Of course not. You're anxious for Cissy's sake. I was in quite a state when Druella had Bellatrix... the next two were easier."

"I'm not anxious," Lucius snapped, rising to his feet once more and resuming his earlier pacing. Some indeterminate span of time later, the door opened once more, and the new arrivals had not needed an elf to show them the way— his parents had arrived at last.

Mrs. Malfoy greeted her son first, before turning her attentions to the other visitors. She did not return to her husband's side, however, staying instead with Britt to admire his daughter. Abraxas, on the other hand, greeted first Cygnus, offered Rodolphus a wary nod, and then came to stand beside his son by the hearth.

"I suppose you've some brilliant bit of advice to impart now that I very nearly have a son of my own?" Lucius suggested sneeringly and without preamble, although he found that, for the first time in many years, he actually did rather hope his father might have something insightful to say. Abraxas, however, merely shook his head and took a sip of whisky as Lucius poured a drink of his own.

"You've been your own man for years now, and I have no great wisdom on the subject. Do you know what you're going to call him yet?" Abraxas asked mildly, swirling the ice in his glass.

"I told Narcissa she could decide. Quite frankly I don't care what we call him. If he's healthy, and she's alright, who cares about a name?"

Abraxas chuckled softly. "A clever choice. I told your mother the same thing, you know. Well, not exactly— I told her she could choose a traditional name from our family tree, not something dreadful she might think of on her own. Can you imagine being called Hallmar, after her father? Gunnar, like her brother?" He chuckled at the thought, and Lucius gave a grudging smile of his own. "I wouldn't have chosen the name she did," he went on, causing his son's smile to flicker. "I might have chosen Septimus instead, perhaps Brutus… your namesake was rather an embarrassment, wasn't he? Pining after the Muggle queen."

Lucius's momentary good humour had fully evaporated by now, and he took a swig of his drink without replying. Noticing his silence, Abraxas glanced over and gave a sigh. "And see? I've gone and said the precisely the wrong thing. No… I certainly haven't any advice to give on being a father."

They remained silent for several minutes after the statement. It was the closest Lucius had ever heard him come to admitting any sort of shortcoming, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

"I was out of the country when you were born," he continued at last. "And I'll confess— I stayed away for several days after you were born. Your mother's family had all come down from Sweden, and I wanted to give them the chance to see you, and her, since I knew it would be years before I gave them the opportunity again."

Abraxas had never made his dislike for his wife's family a secret, and Lucius remembered meeting them only once or twice as a child. He had become reacquainted with them in recent years only through Narcissa's design that they should visit Sweden in the year following their move to the Manor. Abraxas had no apparent great love for his wife either, though he was fond of her and treated her well. Though she was exceedingly beautiful, he did not view her as particularly bright and had little respect for her thoughts or opinions. Lucius privately suspected that his mother was far more intelligent than she let on— she'd have to be in order to keep her ill-natured husband gentle and pleasant towards her for these many years of matrimony— but she always presented a simple, happy face to the world and stood passively by her husband even through his disgrace and his exile from the Wizarding spheres of influence upon the botched assassination attempt.

"Where were you?" Lucius asked, thinking that no business in the world could have kept him from the Manor on this day.

"Oh, I had a woman in Vienna back in those days," he replied almost wistfully, "delightful company. She had a son of her own, though I never met him, and she had some sound advice to give on parenting. Not mine, of course," he continued, misreading Lucius's surprised and repulsed expression. Lucius supposed he should not be surprised at this casual admission of infidelity. Years ago, when Abraxas had come to the London house to chastise him after learning of the horrid mess with Angelique, he'd had no criticism about the affair— it had been the liability, the potential scandal, that had so disturbed him.

"Were you not worried that the birth might go poorly?"

"Don't be sentimental," Abraxas replied coolly. "There was a full staff of healers there; if something had gone awry, what would I have been able to do that they could not? Besides, she was young and healthy; there was no reason things should not have gone smoothly."

"Did she ever miscarry?" he asked abruptly.

Abraxas looked over, visibly taken aback by the question. "Yes," he answered at length, turning back to stare into the fire. "Twice, before you were born. Once very early, and once in her second trimester. A girl." He lifted his shoulder in a disaffected manner, as though to indicate that this was no great loss.

"And after I was born?"

"She never became pregnant again. Perhaps she was taking a contraceptive potion without my knowledge; she may not have wanted any more children."

Lucius glanced over to where his mother was still speaking with Britt Parkinson. Now she was holding Pansy and crooning affectionately to the girl. "Perhaps not," he responded drily. Across the study, Walburga would be deterred no longer; she extricated herself from Bellatrix and loudly announced that she would head upstairs. His mother returned Pansy to her father and exited as well, and Lucius could only fervently hope, for Narcissa's sake, that it would not be too much longer before their child arrived. It was half past seven in the evening now. It felt like a lifetime ago that he'd woken beside her; in reality, it had been just over twelve hours. Marlowe and his staff had been onsite within the hour of being summoned, Druella shortly after, and the Lestranges had arrived at noon. He had expected the whole ordeal to have been finished already; by her account the early stages labor had begun near midnight, and nineteen hours seemed an absurdly long time to expel a baby. Ari came down periodically throughout the day to feed Pansy, looking in worse condition each time, but the only updates she provided after their first conversation were unhelpful ones such as "about the same" or "progressing a bit."

Supper was agony. He found that any food he attempted to place in his mouth tasted like sawdust and he could not follow any of the conversations going on around him. Walburga and his mother returned for the meal, both seeming to be in rather more subdued spirits than before they'd seen his wife, and after the meal was cleared away they returned to her bedside without offering him any reassurances. When he returned with the rest to the study, Lucius was so on edge that nearly everyone present seemed to have given up on trying to speak to him and was now actively avoiding his gaze. Nearly.

On the largest couch, Rodolphus had fallen asleep again; it seemed he was the only one able to rest untroubled as the evening grew late. Bellatrix sat down beside Lucius and offered him a pour from his own bottle of liquor. "If anything happens to my baby sister, Malfoy..." she began with soft malice, but apparently could not think of a punishment terrible enough to subject him to and left the sentence unfinished. Lucius privately believed that his own guilt should any misfortune befall his wife would be so severe that no additional punishment would be necessary; in fact being tortured by Bellatrix might be a welcome distraction.

"I won't blame you," she spoke suddenly after a full minute of silence and Lucius frowned in confusion.

"If anything happens to her," she clarified. "It won't be your fault. She's wanted a baby practically since she was one herself. I think she'd rather die than never have one, so... I can't blame you for forcing her to have your heir or anything like that. Cissy wants this."

"It might not have been so difficult if she'd married someone else," he offered quietly, and she shot him an odd look.

"What do you mean?"

Evidently, Narcissa had not shared with her sister their many trials in conceiving this child, nor the reasons why that may have been the case. Rather than answer Bellatrix, he took a long pull of scotch from the tumbler in his hand that she'd just filled.

"You don't mean the Perrot boy, do you?" she went carelessly, and Lucius's eyes snapped to her face in shock. Narcissa had been careful to keep the man's name from him; she had known what the consequences might be if he found out. He knew what the consequences might be, and so he had resisted the desire to use his many resources to uncover it.

"Honestly Malfoy," Bella went on, not noticing his expression as she examined her nails for any flaws. "I don't think that was anything to worry about. I don't even know if he fancied girls, to be quite honest. He was always going about singing and reciting poetry." She waved a dismissive hand. It was clear neither her sister nor husband had bothered to inform her what had really happened in Blois.

"I—" but before he could complete the sentence the door swung opened to reveal, for the first time in the study that day, Mrs. Black. A hushed, expectant silence fell over the room, and every reeling thought was wiped from Lucius's mind as thoroughly as though he'd been Confunded.

Druella stood in the doorway looking exhausted, but the radiance of her expression told Lucius all he needed to know before she spoke. He felt suddenly weak as a massive wave of relief threatened to overwhelmed him; he wanted to sprint past her, upstairs to see his wife and new son. However, he forced himself to remain still and stoic as she announced aloud that the child was a boy, and both he and Narcissa were doing well. Without pausing to watch the happy reactions that erupted upon her announcement, Druella turned and vanished once more, and Lucius continued to fight the urge to dash after her. Instead, he remained unmoving for several moments longer before following the path to his rooms with carefully measured, even steps. The rest of the party followed, everyone talking brightly and in good spirits, but Lucius could not distinguish any voice above the other as he concentrated on his destination. It felt like an eternity before they arrived, and he pushed open the double doors to the private seating area leading to his bedroom and, opposite from it, the room in which Narcissa currently resided.

Healer Marlowe was sorting through several vials in the center of the parlour, speaking quietly to one of his assistants. Mrs. Malfoy was standing with Walburga, nodding along with a politely confused frown at whatever the woman was blathering about now, and Ari was seated near the window, rubbing her aching feet. There were several birthing attendants and nurses there as well, three of whom they'd hired to stay on for the first year but he couldn't recall which. Druella emerged from the birthing chamber at the same moment Lucius and the others poured in from the corridor, and despite her tired, disheveled appearance she was beaming and holding a bundle in her arms.

Lucius faltered when he saw her, and Bellatrix brushed past him with hardly a glance at the child to go confirm her sister's wellbeing with her own eyes. He almost envied her— he would not be permitted to see Narcissa yet with so many well-wishers around. Rodolphus clapped his shoulder in a congratulatory manner, but suddenly the voices around him seemed to blur and distort, and all he could see was the impossibly small, swaddled infant his mother-in-law was carrying over to him with pride.

"Lucius, meet your son. Would you like to hold him?"

He might have said 'no' out of panic if she had not already been pressing the baby into his arms, gracefully moving his hand to support the little head without drawing undue attention to the fact he had no idea what he was doing— he'd never held a child before and here was his own, his son, wrapped securely in white cotton and making tiny movements of his mouth and blinking unseeingly. His son.

Amazingly, Lucius saw the boy already had his same grey eyes and a silky dusting of white blond hair. Any other distinguishing features would become more pronounced later, for the child's small nose and pout were common in all infants he'd seen— not that he had seen terribly many. The baby seemed to weigh nothing, impossibly fragile, too delicate to be of this world, and a protectiveness that Lucius had never before experienced hit him like a blow to the gut, constricting his chest and making it difficult to breathe. There were still niceties to be observed— the baby would be fawned over and pronounced perfect, drinks and cigars would be passed around to the men, they would reconvene in the library to celebrate and Lucius would be expected to join them all while Narcissa and their son rested, both sets of new grandparents would plan to stay for a week or two— but suddenly Lucius wanted none of it. He wanted to be with his wife and son and deal with none of it.

"Right." Lucius tore his gaze away from his son's face with great effort, looking around at the smiles of friends and family. "Right," he repeated firmly and with more confidence. "Thank you all for coming to this momentous occasion." Traditionally he should say something about the continuation of the ancient and noble Malfoy line, the great things for which this child was destined, and then pass his son off to a female relative or nurse. Druella was already hovering nearby ready to take her grandson back, and Rodolphus had a cigar and coupe in hand waiting for him. "Now, please leave."

There were several seconds of shocked silence, broken at the same time by a flurry of protestations. Rodolphus, however, spoke above them all.

"Well! Thank the gods for that. Tell Bella I've gone home." He drained the champagne meant for Lucius and carelessly dropped the emptied glass on the rug, tucked the cigar back into his robe pocket, and turned and shouldered his way from the room. Unfortunately the others were not so easy to deter.

"I've waited here all afternoon to see my grand-nephew and now you unceremoniously banish us all—"

"Lucius, your father and I have come all the way from Portugal—"

"I think my daughter—"

"Enough!" Ari called abruptly, earning a number of disapproving stares. "He's asked everyone to go and we shall." Despite her short stature and the fact she cradled her own daughter to her chest, she cut a surprisingly formidable figure. "Britt," she turned to her husband, who looked rather hesitantly around the room, clearly more cowed by the glares than she. "Please help everyone to find their personal effects and make sure the elves have the carriages ready. I'll let Bellatrix know we're all leaving." Before anyone could argue, she disappeared into the room with Narcissa and her sister. Britt apologetically began to guide everyone towards the exit, and Lucius nodded politely to each accusatory farewell. His father was the last of the family to leave, giving him a coldly disapproving look, but for perhaps the first time in his life, Lucius cared not at all that he had failed to do the proper thing and hence disappointed Abraxas. He finally had his own son; he was the patriarch of the Malfoy family now, and the power dynamic had at last fully shifted. He smiled widely and shamelessly bid him a pleasant journey home.

Bellatrix reappeared and departed with only a brief nod in his direction; Ari followed but paused to admire the infant in his arms a final time. "I wish Britt had made everyone leave after I had Pansy," she confessed with a wry smile. "I'm glad the three of you will be able to spend some time alone together right away." They were united momentarily in their mutual desires to see Narcissa's wishes best served, but it was rare that their viewpoints on how to achieve this end overlapped; they were hardly allies in the longterm.

Only the healing staff now remained, and Marlowe watched the scene without expression. "I was going to give care instructions to your wife's mother," he began in his reedy tones, his manner clearly indicating he felt the matter of childbearing to be of the lesser, feminine domain, "but if you would prefer I can go over the details with you."

He at last relinquished his son to a nurse, who vanished into Narcissa's room with him and returned empty-handed. Lucius eyed the door almost wistfully— he still had yet to glimpse his wife— but went over to where Marlowe stood instead. "We've hired a nurse, she should hear this."

"She already has," Marlowe replied disinterestedly.

"That should be sufficient then," Lucius replied quickly, eagerly. "Thank you for your unparalleled aid and my elf will see you and your staff out."

"There is... one more thing," Marlowe's colorless gaze flicked around the room, ensuring that no one seemed to be listening. "If you are quite attached to this wife, Mr. Malfoy, I would suggest you refrain from attempting to have any additional children by her. I do not believe she would survive it, even if she managed to carry it to term."

The announcement was not a shock, but it was not exactly news he could receive with great warmth either. "Thank you for telling me. I'll let her know... eventually." His eyes moved again to the door behind which Narcissa and their son waited, and he knew he was doing a poor job at concealing his impatience to see them.

"I'll send a more detailed report on her health and the child's vitals by owl tomorrow, for your records." He inclined his head slightly. "And you have my congratulations." He turned to leave, and most of the remaining people in the room followed.

"You," he spoke rather abruptly to one of the women who was walking past with a vial of potion in each hand. She was one of the nurses they'd hired to stay on, he distinctly remembered her from an interview during which Narcissa had asked what felt like a thousand questions, but for the life of him he could not recall her name.

"Ilithia Figg," she offered helpfully.

"Right. If my wife and son do not require immediate attention, could you have the other girls vacate the room to give us a moment of privacy?"

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she agreed at once, heading into the bedroom and reappearing several moments later with the two other nurses in tow. He could already tell he was not going to enjoy having strangers in his home for the foreseeable future. He slipped into the room they had just vacated, suddenly apprehensive that she might be resting and he would only be disturbing her with his presence. Lucius always felt like an intruder in this room.

He needn't have worried. Narcissa was awake, lying on the bed and leaning dreamily over the edge to peer into the bassinet that sat next to it. She looked like she could have been painted there by the Pre-Raphaelites, if only she were gazing into a flora-filled pond instead of her son's cradle. Rather than the petaled edges of a water lily, her fingers delicately traced the platinum wisps of his hair, though she was careful not to disturb his slumber. When Lucius stepped into the room she smiled, though her gaze flickered in his direction for only a moment. The scene was pristine, all the bedding had been changed and she wore a fresh dressing gown. Her hair had been washed and braided, and a blood restorative gave bright albeit artificial color to her cheeks. As the nurses were temporarily out of sight, Lucius allowed himself to join her on the bed, sidling up behind her to fit his body around hers and peering over her shoulder at the small, sleeping infant.

"He's perfect," she breathed. He could not help but agree. They remained silent in unspoken admiration for several moments, until she asked softly, "Don't you want to know what we're going to call him?"

He did.

"Before I tell you his name, I want you to know why I chose it," she went on in the same voice, scarcely above a whisper in volume but far lovelier; slow and gentle and at peace. "As you're aware, many in my family are given celestial names. If my sister truly never has a child, as she swears she will not, then ours is not only the Malfoy heir, but Black as well. I've always known I wanted to call our son or daughter something that would refer to that tradition."

Lucius had suspected she might, although he hoped she would not think to call him Regulus, after her recently-deceased cousin. He didn't think she would— she was not the type of woman to give her son a name that brought up such tragic and painful loss. He hoped too that she would not call him after her father, but he remained silent and allowed her to continue.

"Do you remember the afternoon we spent together the day before our wedding?" The question caught him off-guard; it had taken years for them move past the hostility of the earliest days of their marriage, and there were moments he still wondered if the mistrust of that time had permanently eroded the possibility of a perfect understanding between them. Why would she bring up the past on today of all days? "It was the first time our parents let us be alone together," she continued serenely. "I was nervous and excited and there were dozens of things I wanted to say to you, and perhaps hundreds I hoped you'd say to me… but you had just fought with your father and you weren't the least bit interested."

He recalled the exchange now, though the memory of his own behaviour on the occasion made him shift uncomfortably. Narcissa didn't seem to notice. "So I sat down and did what any proper English lady does in times of great distress: I had a cup of tea."

"And you read the leaves," Lucius added, though he still was not sure where the recollection was leading.

"I read the leaves," she affirmed. "I took Divination at at N.E.W.T level, but tasseography was never a strong suit of mine. My memorization was, of course, flawless— I knew what the shapes symbolized, I could learn from a book what the symbols might portend, and I passed with high marks because testing Divination can only really be done at a theoretical level. However I never saw anything very concrete or useful. I was never truly certain of what I was seeing in the leaves, until that day when I turned the cup for a third time with my left hand and I saw—"

"A dragon," they both spoke at the same time, and Narcissa nodded solemnly.

"A great and sudden change, I believe you said it meant?" he added.

"Quite," she agreed. "At first, when I was watching our son, I couldn't understand why the day had come to mind. It wasn't a happy one, and I'm so happy now. But then I realized, everything has changed. This is our great change. Our dragon." And at last she turned away from the boy towards Lucius, carefully readjusting her exhausted and sore and fragile body to press her front to his, wrapping her arms around him, though she was too weak to pull him close as she clearly intended to. He did it for her; gathering her to his chest, resting his lips against her forehead.

"Draco," she breathed, "his name is Draco Lucius Malfoy."