Chapter One: Firstborn

The Maternity Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries was abuzz. December was the busiest month for births. March and April brought spring with them, and spring was the most passionate time of the year for couples, so the result of this passion was seen nine months later, in December.

"A boy, Madam," a Healer told one woman who was lying in her bed, her bright red curls soaked with sweat and sticking to her face and neck. The child was quickly cleaned and the Healer handed the squirming bundle to her. "A healthy baby boy."

Beside her, clutching her hand and sweating almost as much as her, the woman's husband made an excited sound. "A son! My dear, sweet Molly, we have another son!"

But the redheaded woman in room M309 seemed to have not heard him; she had eyes for nothing and no one but the seven pounds and three ounces of pure, brand new life she now held in her arms. "Perfect," she whispered; it was the only word that came to mind that seemed to carry enough gravity for what she was seeing. "You're perfect."

For a small moment, she appeared to be deliberating something, and then she looked up to her husband.

"Let's name him Percy."

Her husband blinked as though he'd been Confunded. "But—but darling, we already agreed on Ignatius."

"That can be his middle name," she said, turning her head back to gaze at her third son. She was not arguing; indeed, her voice was quite calm. Perhaps seeing how deeply this matter had moved his wife, the man, also ginger-haired, voiced his agreement with a wry smile.

The Maternity Ward was, of course, one of the few places in St. Mungo's which allowed Apparition. After all, the women in question were, most of the time upon entry, about to give birth, and no time could be wasted in the reception of medical assistance.

Shortly after the birth of Percy Ignatius Weasley on December the twenty-first, there was, barely audible above the din, a small popping sound; a tall, intimidating-looking man with white-blond hair appeared in the middle of the ward, supporting his equally blonde and very pregnant wife.

Nothing had to be said before a Healer rushed up to them, a kind-looking woman of about thirty with sandy hair and analytical light brown eyes.

"What's your name, Madam?" she asked of the woman, who, clutching her husband, shook her head, unable to speak.

"Malfoy," the man answered for her. "Narcissa Malfoy."

"You're her husband?"

"Yes, I am Lucius Malfoy."

The Healer nodded, and summoned a wheelchair, taking Narcissa gently from her husband.

"All right, Narcissa, we'll get you squared away in no time. You're going to be just fine. I'm Healer Kalina Roland."

As she was lowered into the wheelchair, Narcissa somehow found the will to speak, looking at Kalina Roland as though she'd forgotten something dreadfully important. "And the baby too, right?"

Roland quickly bounced back, giving her a gentle look and a friendly squeeze on her shoulder.

"Of course. And the baby too."

Narcissa gave something like a smile, and Roland wheeled her into one of the birthing rooms. Lucius followed, feeling rather helpless (an unusual sensation for him) but keeping his composure, his cloak billowing behind him.

The labor was intense. Despite magical medical care, many women were known to die during childbirth. Children with magical abilities had a strong survival instinct, and as soon as the time of birth drew near, they began to be a danger to their mothers. Old superstition said that the harder the labor, the more likely the child was to be powerful when they grew up.

Lucius sent out messages via Patronus, and before long, two women, rather darker than Narcissa but with the same sort of beauty, Apparated in.

"You!" the elder of the two cried accusingly at the other. She looked back at Narcissa. "Why in the name of Merlin's sainted package is she here?"

"Because I'm her sister—and yours too, Bellatrix! Have you forgotten?" replied the younger hotly.

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a Mudblood-loving shame to the family, I'd recall you a little more," spat Bella.

"Maybe if you weren't such a jump-up, hero-worshipping—"

"Shut up!" Narcissa yelled in agony, with the annoyed sort of expression of one with much more important matters with which she could be worried. She enunciated every word through her pain. "You are both my sisters. Now will you both kindly stow it before I—"

Her threat was cut off by a scream caused by a particularly painful contraction; Lucius flinched as though slapped. The argument was ended there, and Bellatrix and Andromeda each took places at opposite sides of their youngest sister's bed. As one of the wealthiest and most influential pureblood families, arrangements had been made for them to have an especially private room.

For six more hours, Narcissa Malfoy struggled through the labor and, in her seventh hour, she finally gave birth to her first child.

"A girl, Madam," the Healer who'd delivered the baby announced. "Healthy. We're cleaning her up now."

Narcissa leaned her head back and closed her eyes, looking immensely relieved. It was difficult to distinguish between the tears and perspiration on her face; this had been, by far, the most painful ordeal of her life. A few minutes later, another Healer brought in the small bundle of cloth containing the child, and handed her to Narcissa.

For a moment, the entire room was silent as Narcissa, and everyone else, stared at the little girl. Her face was flushed and she had a small tuft of brown hair on her head. They stayed like that for a long time.

"What are you going to name her?" Bellatrix asked, in a voice so soft it didn't sound like her own.

Narcissa sniffled and wiped away some of her tears. "We were thinking about Electra or Persephone," she said. "What do you think?"

"No," Andromeda said softly, shaking her head.

"Yeah, that's too Greek," Bellatrix said.

The two women's eyes met, both in a touch of shock. Had they just agreed on something? Quickly, not wanting to face that fact, they looked back to Narcissa and the baby.

"What about Desdemona?" Andromeda suggested.

"That's not tradition," Bellatrix said, referring to the Black custom of naming their children after stars or constellations.

Andromeda shrugged. "It's Shakespearean."

"I like it," Narcissa said, rather absently. She would not take her eyes off the child. She looked at her husband, who nodded. For the first time since her labor began, she smiled, and looked back at her firstborn.

"Desdemona Persephone."