Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape or form intending to steal or infringe on copyrights owned by JK Rowling or Warner Bros. I do not claim to own any of the following that is linked to the Harry Potter saga, which was created and is credited to JK Rowling, who in my opinion is a genius. This story is purely for fun and no profit is being made from this. I own Ophelia and the basic storyline. But it is a little canon and draws on concepts from the older and future plots also. That is all.

Thank you GemmaKaz for your review! Thank you, thank you! I certainly do not expect any reads or reviews, but when I get reviews like I have from you, ashrachellexx and pourquiobella, well, that's just, I'm literally lost for words. When I write, I write with the hope that there is just one reader out there who gets the same pleasure that I do when I write it! I do hope that if someone has a critique about this story that they tell me too!

Half a Father

To be blatantly honest, Lucius Malfoy was an absolute bastard and he knew it. But when it came to his family, there was nothing neither more perfect nor higher in his esteem. Nothing was more important to him and it was the only thing in his life that he allowed to stir the tiniest bit of emotion in his caged heart.

He may have been an icy exterior met by all and defeated by none, but he was a man of utter resilience and no one dared cross his path.

He stood in the door-frame, leaning to one side watching over the sleeping boy. Draco, his one and only son appeared peacefully enraptured in his slumber, eyes flickering frantically back and forth behind his eye lids, deep in a dream state. A leg slung over the edge of the bed and fully exposed.

Lucius smirked, that boy was becoming a chip off the old block with every day that passed. His replica blue-grey eyes and immaculate silver-blonde hair was only heightened by a supreme resolve in who he was and where he was going. A true Malfoy heir. Pride swelling in the older man's chest at the thought that his boy was growing up into everything he had ever wished for in his son.

'I'm getting too sentimental in my old age.' Lucius amusedly digressed, whilst figuring what to do with the boy's awkward sleeping arrangement.

Pushing gently off the door frame, Lucius sighed and moved toward the boy in the bed. He ever-so-gently brought the boy's leg back up onto the bed and covered it with a spare corner of the sheet. Rearranging the remainder of the blankets over his son, Lucius then leaned down and kissed the top of his head, affection a rare experience for the older man.

"Dream well… Dragon," he whispered quietly, more to himself than anything.

He then turned to the door and proceeded down the long hallway to the master bedroom, where his wife would no doubt already be in bed. Narcissa, just like her name, was heartbreakingly beautiful, and also the strongest woman Lucius had ever dealt with. He was secretly glad that they shared a deep love for one another. He didn't think he would fare well against her, should they ever disagree. When she was angry, she was like a ferocious lioness and it frightened the pants off him.

Reaching the double-doors to the master suite, Lucius quietly turned the handle and slipped through the door. He observed his wife, ever so relaxed, in what he could only describe as a light sleep. She must have just started to doze off, as a book lay open upon her lap and her upper-body still perched against the bed's back board, head slowly falling forward before flinging back up and over correcting itself.

Lucius allowed a little smile to form on his face. Narcissa is never this relaxed during her waking hours. He had always taken secret pleasure in watching his wife sleep, and for the past twelve years it was the only time she allowed herself to momentarily surrender and forget a grief she so desperately cleaved to. A grief she kept for several reasons, Lucius mused.

Firstly, it was as a reminder of their loss. It was also a daily self-punishment of Narcissa's because of self-blame for something that was out of anyone's control. But thirdly, Lucius considered, was that it represented an emotional vigil to the one thing, they as a family, wanted to keep alive in their hearts forever, their daughter and sister.

Taking off his shirt and sitting on his side of the bed, he looked over to the photograph on his bedside table. Picking it up, he gave a saddened choke, looking at the moving picture.

A younger Lucius Malfoy was relaxing back in a recliner chair in St Mungo's maternity wing, a small little life bundled askew in pink blankets, cradled to his chest. The image looked up now, meeting his older-self's eyes. It smiled broadly, no, it was more than that. It was beaming. Pure and radiant happiness was coming from the man, one half of his ultimate pride right there in his arms, his whole world. 'That' Lucius had two little angels of pink and blue, barely a few hours old.

The best part about it all for Lucius though, was that no one was expecting her. She was a surprise packet, arriving a few short minutes after her brother, but instantly melting everyone's hearts with her newborn grey eyes, silvery-white tuft of hair and the sweetest little cries.

Of course, Lucius was stoked when Draco arrived. He was of course the new Malfoy son and heir, in perfect health and all the promise in the world. But when little Ophelia decided to follow suit and rather unexpectedly, well, Lucius went from chuffed to being ecstatic. There hadn't been a girl born with the Malfoy name for eight generations, so to have one of each, well, Lucius was the bird that got the worm and the cat that got the cream. To him though, his daughter was the epitome of his perfection.

But now, all he had was bitterness and emptiness. He hated his former self and he hated how he had let himself feel, because the more you felt the more it hurt and this was a hurt that he would take with him to the grave.

His little girl was completely defenseless and he wasn't there to stop it. He was meant to be her protector and he failed within two days of her birth. He failed and he would never forgive himself. Every night he wished from his deepest longings, that he could have a second chance. Though, he knew this wish was futile for he believed nothing was going to bring his princess back.

A pair of warm, feminine hands ran themselves down over Lucius' shoulders and then wrapped themselves around his waist. A slim body pulled itself against his back and fragile, soft kisses started across his shoulder blades, bringing him back to his bedroom and regrettably, reality.

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Narcissa had woken when her husband sat quietly on the side of their marital bed. She watched him reach for the photograph, the emotional pain evident in the way he hunched forward over his hips, and his breathing becoming slow and deep. She allowed him a private moment to think and to feel, knowing all too well that this was a rare occurrence. He never openly discussed nor displayed his pain over what happened to their daughter, but one thing was certain, it made him a very bitter and closed man.

But, as any good wife knows, it's best to not let men dwell on their feelings. They may feel they're immune to emotions, but it is a well-known fact that if you let a man brood, you'll have storm clouds in the house for a very long time.

She reached across the bed and wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled herself close to him. Kissing his bare shoulder blades, she felt his body relax, at her touch. Though it was only a slight physical response, it was still comforting to know that she still had this effect on her husband after fifteen years of marriage. He brought his hands down over hers that were clasped in front of him, drawing small circles with his thumb.

He blinked madly, no, he wouldn't. He was not going to break, not now. The harder he fought however, the more useless his efforts seemed to be. Finally letting go, he dropped his head and began to cry in earnest.

Narcissa, slightly shocked, took it in her stride and gently pulled her husband back into a loving embrace. He rolled over into the fetal position, his head on her lap and his arms swathed around her legs, sobbing hopelessly. He felt pathetic, needy and vulnerable, while she tenderly ran her fingers through his hair without judgment. Twelve years of pent-up pain, slowly uncoiling like a dormant spring, wound too tight.

Not a word was spoken. The room fell silent with Lucius eventually succumbing to his tiredness, Narcissa following soon after, still holding her lover close, determined to never let him go.