Draco plopped down onto his favourite seat in front of the fireplace in his study, exhausted. He rubbed his eyes and let out a loud sigh as he let his tensed body relax. It had been a long but not unlike any other day at the Malfoy household: a lot of screeching, a lot of screaming and a lot of shattered glass. Draco had gotten used to this – after all, Ginny had been pregnant for nearly 8 months now. He was no stranger to her extreme mood swings.
He thought back to just the other week where he had forgotten that it was her uncle's wife's sister's husband's mother-in-law's birthday, and so had neglected to buy a present for the event. The chaos that had ensued that day was unforgettable as well as painful – his ears were still ringing.
He let his head rest heavily against the soft cushion of his chair.
"This is getting too much for me," he muttered to no one in particular.
There were times where he'd want to strangle her, throw her off the roof of the mansion, anything to get her to stop arguing with him on such inane topics. This was one of them.
He loved her, heck she was his heart and soul, but sometimes she was too much to handle. He closed his eyes, and slowly drifted off to the bliss that is sleep.
When he woke up, he noticed that he was warm, comfortable. Someone had draped a blanket over him while he was asleep. Looking up, he spotted his wife standing by the window looking over the Front Garden as the sun started to set. She looked so serene, so tranquil, he couldn't find the heart to disturb that peaceful aura that surrounded her.
As he watched her, he started remembering why – after all of those months of struggle – he was still here.
She looked ethereal. Her now long hair cascaded down her back in soft waves as the sun hit her auburn hair at just the right angle to make her whole being glow in a warm endearing radiance. She was wearing one of her favourite nightgowns; the one her mother had worn when she was pregnant – one he didn't usually approve of, but right now, thanked the heavens for.
The once white gown reached right below her knees, as it swathed her body, making it seem as though it was enveloping her in a hug of comfort. It wasn't tight in any way; rather it hung loosely around her body, only showing a slight protrusion around her middle.
He'd come to notice that she only ever wore it after they'd had a big row that he or she had walked out on. He sensed it was her way to get comfort from her mother.
He knew she missed her, and it pained him that he couldn't do anything about it – after all the things magic did for them, it could not bring back the dead.
But at this moment in time, she didn't seem to be sad or grieving; she was simply being.
Her face, reflecting the orange hue of the setting sun, seemed relaxed. And although her arms were crossed over her chest, her stance and demeanour wasn't accusatory or negative in anyway.
Draco found himself, for some strange reason, mesmerized by the image of his pregnant wife. He realised that he finally understood what people meant when they said that his wife was 'glowing'. She wasn't just reflecting the light of the sun, she was producing her own source of light.
And that was when it hit him.
Without realising it, he had gotten up and headed towards his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, his family, and rested his chin on her soft head.
She was his source of light.