He had never really wanted a child. Neither had Narcissa, for that matter. He knew, of course, that he would have to have one, maybe two, if his firstborn was a girl, because the Malfoy name had to go on somehow, but he hadn't been in a hurry. His wife was quite young, younger than him, and he thought that he'd try to take his ambition as far as he could before settling down as a head of family.
And a war, no matter which side you were on, was not a good time to have children, even if the Weasleys hadn't realized that. He'd overheard Arthur Weasley telling a colleague that, every day, he was afraid to go home and find that he had no home to go to and that he had lost them all. He'd wondered briefly if children were worth all that unnecessary worrying. He could sympathize to being afraid for one's wife ; that Black marriage had of course been convenient – pureblood and all – but he truly liked Narcissa. Maybe he even loved her a little. She was certainly charming and intelligent. She was even sane, which was more than could be said for her sister Bella, who was steadily engaged into a descending spiral to madness.
He was content with their couple. Little trouble for some pleasurable moments. And then, all of a sudden, the war went to a peak of violence, Aurors and Death Eaters were fighting all the time, the losses were as great on each side, and everyone got little sleep and could not take their mind off the deaths, the murders, the torture, and Narcissa forgot that contraceptive potion and fell pregnant.
He had been having a drink in his study when she had come to tell him her news. He had just come back from one of the Dark Lord's expeditions that had somehow backfired and had been severely punished by Him. His bones were still aching with the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse, he was pretty sure that he'd have a nasty bump on his head the next morning, he didn't quite registered what his wife told him.
A few days later, it was all too clear and some Death Eaters, Bella, probably, and her husband, had tortured and killed a few kids from a Muggle orphanage. He couldn't bear to think about it, how could he still serve his Lord and care about the child that was coming? Better not to acknowledge it yet, the baby wasn't there, he was safe and sound in Cissy's womb, with a little luck, He'd have triumphed before it was born and it'd grow up in a new wizarding society. Yes, better to serve the Dark Lord well and hope for a reward, so that the unexpected child would have a nice life.
But the Snape boy – Merlin, he must have been unpopular in school just by the looks of him – had eavesdropped a prophecy in the Hog's Head and had reported it to their Lord, who had gone in such a rage that, for the first time, Lucius doubted him. He had always favoured rational thinking to blind emotional outburst, and that particular one did not bode well.
His son had just turned one, he could barely walk, Voldemort was defeated by another baby, he was being interrogated by the Ministry, there was no point in supporting his Lord any more, Draco would grow up without him, Narcissa would be left with nothing. He lied. The Dark Mark had disappeared. Bella and her husband were imprisoned. Cissy had no one but him, all her family in Azkaban or estranged.
She was colder, not the lovely girl he had married anymore, an haughty woman, who clung to her pride because she had nothing else. She hadn't wanted a child, he was a bother in a time where greater things were in the balance. The house elves took care of him, mostly. He walked a little, talked a little, Cissy thought he was stupid and that it was her husband deserved for failing to protect her family.
They didn't have the same idea on what family was supposed to be. He had heard Weasley announced the birth of his daughter, after six sons, earlier in the day. He had muttered a snide remark, claimed that one was more than enough, but on the way home, he thought that he didn't even know what having a child felt like. To be honest, he hadn't seen much of Draco and, out of curiosity, went to the nursery.
Dobby, a house elf, was waving some rags in front of Draco and the child was giggling while trying to catch them. Lucius eyed the expensive toys some acquaintances had sent and then glanced at the elf. It froze and ran out of the room., leaving Draco clutching the rags nervously.
He looked afraid, as if he had been left with a stranger. Lucius sat beside him and awkwardly took him in his arms. His boy was near to tears, but did not utter a sound. After a while, Lucius noticed that his vision was blurry and clutched his son tighter. At one point, Draco relaxed and snuggled in his father's arms and fell asleep.
He had been busy, in the years that followed the end of the war, getting his reputation back, convincing people that he was a good man, terribly arrogant perhaps, but nothing to be really afraid of. He was rude and haughty, his wife's attitude had rubbed on him, he was disdainful of those that were not part of his social circle.
There was a muggle town, not too far from the manor, and sometime he went to walk there, as there was such a beautiful park. A father was playing with his little daughter, something that had to do with knights and princesses, and before he could stopped himself, he had smiled at the sight. He almost never played with Draco, Narcissa didn't really either. But the boy was growing up, they were far more comfortable with a teenager than they had been with a child and maybe…
Maybe if the war had ended when it should have, if the Dark Lord had not tried to gain immortality and kill the Potter boy every year since his first year at Hogwarts, maybe they could have been a real family, like the one Weasley had, or something similar.
When He came back, after the Triwizard Tournament, when he called all the Death Eaters that were still free, when Lucius learned of Wormtail and his betrayal, when he returned home aching and panting after having been tortured for his unfaithfulness, he decided that it was enough.
Draco came back from school and he made sure to explain all the seriousness of Diggory's death. It was no child's game. There had been a time where all that pureblood supremacy had been a good idea – he still thought it was – but he would not see it in his lifetime. Voldemort would not achieved it, that was it. He was in too far, he'd go on. But he made sure Draco understood. They had to be on His side ; their life depended on it. But Lucius would not believe anymore.
He did not tell Narcissa. Bitterness did not suit her, she hoped for her family, there was no point in saying that she had lost them for good.
In the end, he was glad that he failed at the Department of Mysteries. It was a cowardly act, letting himself be captured and put in jail, but he was safe. He was so sure that Bella had been similarly caught and that Narcissa could never turn to her for help.
But she did and now, Dumbledore was dead, everybody was saying so, the guards spoke of it, told him of the Potions Master betrayal.
All he could think of was that he had been betrayed by his wife and that a man he loathed had sacrificed his life for his son and that all of that might be for nothing if Potter did not succeed.
He had never really wanted a child, and neither had Narcissa, because it was too much trouble, and such a responsibility, but now, he had really nothing else but that child, and the anguish that came with the thought of Draco being in danger, and he would not exchange it for anything in the world.