All legal credit goes to J.K. Rowling
Blue Footie Pajamas
"Cissy, can't you see I'm busy?" Lucius Malfoy waved his wife away impatiently, on the edge of annoyance, and turned the Daily Prophet pages a bit more violently than necessary. He was in the middle of an article detailing his Quidditch team's latest defeat. He had lost six hundred Galleons.
"But, Lucius darling, please?" Narcissa asked again. She could hear the exhaustion edging its way into her voice and attempted to hide it as she spoke again. "Only for a minute or two, dear."
Lucius's pale nostrils flared, his lips formed a thin, hard line and he closed his cloudy-yet-not-rainy-day-color eyes briefly as though taking control of himself. The cold silence of the large manor echoed around Narcissa for one long moment before he spoke again. "I said no." Lucius paused as he turned to the newspaper's 'Diagon Alley Deals' page, the thin papers' crackle filling the empty air. "Besides, he'd only ruin my new robes."
"But, Louie-" she pleaded, resorting to his old nickname from their years at Hogwarts.
He cut her off sharply. "No."
Narcissa had been in the middle of movement, standing up to go to his side, but stilled suddenly in her seat at his harsh tone. "He's asking for you," she mumbled quietly to herself even as she realized it was useless to try to force an interest in their son on her husband.
Looking down, she saw Draco reach for his daddy from her lap, clenching and unclenching his pale, chubby toddler fists. Narcissa kissed the white-blonde curls on top of his head as she heard the small beginnings of Draco's cries. He kicked his tiny feet against his mummy's knees, causing the enchanted dragon print on his sky blue footie pajamas to begin stirring and breathing fire.
As Draco's sobs increased in volume and violence, making his anxious face go pink, Narcissa stood up, rested him gently against her shoulder and began slowly pacing up and down the living room. She hummed an old lullaby from her own childhood into his ear as she did so.
Lucius didn't look up, didn't notice her movement, and seemed not to notice his son's outbursts. He only continued his reading.
Eventually - to his mother's silent relief - Draco's cries quieted. Tears still streamed down his worried face and onto his mother's emerald green robes, but he was no longer screaming as young children are wont to do. Instead, the small boy only looked over his mother's shoulder curiously; staring at his disinterested father.
A Welsh Green dragon from the elastic material on his wrist looked at Draco almost sympathetically and puffed some encouraging smoke up to his elbow, lending the youngest Dragon a small smile.
