Of Silver Spoons and Broken Wombs
A/N: I don't own them.
"He not busy being born is busy dying."—Bob Dylan
xxxxx
June 6, 1980
Daily Prophet: Birth Announcements
Draco Malfoy, born 6:13 p.m June 5, 1980 to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
Lily exhales and rests her elbow on the morning paper. She has a feeling that she should care about the birth of another Malfoy, but all she really wants is coffee. A part of her is envious of Narcissa; at least she's no longer pregnant.
"Tea, Lily?"
"Good morning, James."
"What's the good news in the world today?'
"Narcissa Malfoy had her baby."
"I asked for the good news. Birth of blond Death Eater spawn does not qualify as good news."
"Well, there isn't any good news, so I gave you the first thing I saw."
Lily takes a gulp of her tea and idly stares at the stoic Malfoys in the paper. They don't really move in the photograph, just twitch discontentedly, as if flies are buzzing in their ears. Grinning wickedly, Lily imagines prim Narcissa chasing after a particularly speedy fly. She has to suppress the giggles.
"What's so funny?'
"Oh, nothing. Just hormones."
"How is that funny?"
Lily shrugs and chuckles under her breath. Men. She rolls her eyes and wonders how brave and noble James could be so… well, clueless at times.
She thinks about opening the Daily Prophet in late July and seeing a birth announcement for her child, their child. They've decided on Heather for a girl, to continue the Evans flower motif, and Harry for a boy, after James's great-grandfather. For a moment she can picture playing in the park with Harry-or-Heather and Alice and her baby (are they really going to name him Neville?). A whole new generation. Come to think of it…
"Why does it seem that everyone is having babies? Molly Weasley just had another son, that makes six. Alice Longbottom will probably have her baby in July. Sonia Patil just had twins. And now Narcissa Malfoy,"
"And you."
Lily doesn't even realize she was speaking until after James responds. He smiles warmly, offers her more tea. He knows that most of what she says at this point is hormone-induced verbal diarrhea. She keeps talking nonetheless.
"I guess it's just wartime catching up with us. When we're not fighting our battles we're making the next generation of warriors. Oh, god that makes me feel old. Do you feel old?"
"Not really, no."
She wants to say that they're having children because they know they're running out of time. Yesterday the Order found someone in pieces. It gave her goose bumps and the irrevocable feeling of the end of something. With every ending there's a beginning, right?
Hello, Draco, boy with the scaly name. She traces his picture in the Prophet. This is how we live, Draco.
She takes one last look at the birth announcement. She turns the page.
xxxxx
18 Muggles tortured. 5 dead bodies. One Dark Mark.
The morning paper never fails to depress Sirius. He wants to remember last night as a balmy June night, the beginning of summer, the first time he could see the stars since August. Only half a moon (and waning, much to Moony's delight), but it seemed so full of something. Yeah, full of evil.
He leafs through the pages. A baby was born last night. Poor bastard.
When he sees the name his eyes stop. Draco Malfoy, blond son of his malicious little blond cousin.
"Sorry, Lucius," he says to Lucius's scowling picture. "Missed the party. Great Muggle torture last night. Too bad your son got in the way."
That's probably exactly what Lucius was thinking last night in the hospital. If Sirius ever becomes a father, he'd care about his own baby. He kind of wants a son. Not like he wants to shoulder the responsibility, but he feels a tad bit jealous of James. Maybe he should owl his ex-girlfriend Celia. Like that would work. I want a son. Let's shag!
James's head was in the fire only two nights ago, asking Sirius to be their child's godfather. A part of him couldn't imagine James, glasses askew and almost looking sixteen again, as a father. He agreed almost immediately, never really believing that anything could happen to Lily and James.
He wonders if Draco Malfoy has a godfather.
Not that he needs one. Narcissa will probably spoil him rotten. Lucius will instill a firm belief in pure wizard blood and Muggle hatred in him. No one will bother to tell him he has a Muggle-born uncle or a cousin named Nymphadora who will never have a need for hair dye. And he certainly won't know about his rebellious first cousin once-removed, the one who likes making maps and spending full moons as a dog.
Sirius has never really understood the other side of the family. He remembers being nine and buying broomsticks in Diagon Alley with Bella. Another boy accidentally scratched him with a broomstick, and Bellatrix threw a fit.
"How dare you spill seventeen generations of pure wizarding blood?" she spat.
That has always been one of Bella's flaws, he thinks. She doesn't believe in accidents.
She stopped having two sisters the night Sirius and his Uncle Alphard snuck out of the house to see Andromeda's wedding. A Muggle priest married them in a Muggle ceremony. She wore white, a Black angel, an oxymoron of the first degree. Ted had two crooked teeth and a smile that said I think I can stay here forever. How could anyone hate Ted? Hell, how could anyone hate Lily?
Draco will hate them. By the time he realizes he has a choice, it will be too late.
xxxxx
Andromeda certainly doesn't feel like an aunt.
Of course, she's been a mother for seven years and a loving wife for eight years, but she can't fathom aunt. She hasn't spoken to either of her sisters for almost ten years; she doubts that either of them even registered the birth of her daughter.
A note of congratulations from Andromeda would go straight to the fire.
Nevertheless, she wants to send something. She wants to be a good sister to Narcissa, even if Narcissa hasn't been such a good sister to her.
Both Draco and Narcissa look healthy, wincing from the picture in the Prophet. Andromeda is relieved in spite of herself.
The Black women aren't built to have babies. Nymphadora came in a wash of pain and color, her hair and face changing and morphing and already discovering a whole new state of being. Andromeda panicked, not sure what she just gave birth to, but the Healers calmed her down.
"Your daughter will be beautiful," they said, "She just needs to find her face."
With the trauma of the birth, the Healers informed Andromeda that her body would not be able to carry another child. But they gave her her daughter, and Andromeda learned to be happy with what she had. Maybe she was better off without brothers and sisters. Only three days after Dora's birth, a Howler came from Bellatrix. Andromeda covered her daughter's ears while silent tears streamed down her face.
How awful it must be for Dora, to come into the world with threats.
But Narcissa didn't send a Howler. A regal tawny owl came to the hospital bearing a single red rose and a note:
Congratulations.
Andromeda could recognize thatowl from a mile away. So she still had one sister.
And now the question, the challenge. Should she return the gesture? Common courtesy demands it, but the only other thing Narcissa has given Andromeda is a sneering air of superiority and indifference. Is it worth it?
Andromeda looks out the window and sees Dora picking flowers in the garden. She seems to be taking one of each: one daisy, one violet, one forget-me-not, one rose. Proud of her work, she grabs the little bouquet and calls to her mother:
"Look, Mum! We can send these flowers to cousin Draco!"
"Dora, how do you know about cousin Draco?"
"I overheard you and dad talking about him this morning. Can we send him flowers, Mum, please?"
Andromeda takes her time walking to the garden. She kneels down in front of her daughter. How to explain…
"Dora, Aunt Narcissa hasn't been a good aunt to you. She doesn't visit you on weekends or buy you Christmas presents. Are you sure?"
"You always said to treat others the way you want to be treated. I would want flowers."
Bless her little heart.
"All right, then. We'll send the rose."
xxxxx
Dearest Narcissa,
I would like to congratulate you on the birth of your son, Draco. I regret not being able to join you at this joyous birth but I had a previous engagement
Bella stops. She sounds so dignified in the letter, not someone who spent last night making Muggle women in pink nightgowns scream (and scream and scream). Maybe she should really regret missing Draco's birth for something as frivolous as Muggle torture. But regret makes people weak. She is not weak.
She picks up her quill.
… had other business to attend to. Draco looks like a beautiful boy from the picture in the Prophet; he has Lucius's eyes, bless him. I believe I also speak for Rodolphus when I say he will certainly bring honor to our families.
Families. That is the families who can boast of decades of noble blood running through their veins. She thinks of the little pink-headed girl she saw walking with Andromeda a few years ago. Bella caught the little girl's eyes and whispered so only she could hear:
"I can make you hurt if I want. Hurt until you scream."
All the fear in her little eyes almost made Bella laugh out loud.
Rodolphus and I plan to visit little Draco within the week. I'm taking the liberty of opening an account for him at Gringrotts and depositing a little sum to welcome him to the world. You should receive a House Elf from me (I believe his name is Dobby) to help you with the baby. It's all been paid for, so if the Mudblood who sold him to me tries to charge you, just hex him.
She tried once to teach Sirius how to cast the Cruciatus Curse. She kept telling him that it isn't just a piece of magic; it's one of the most powerful curses a wizard can cast. You want to hear them scream and convulse and moan and give up and shout
"Let me die here!"
Sirius just looked her in the eye and said
"There are worse things than pain, Bella."
I hope your family is well. Give my regards to Lucius.
Your humble servant,
Bellatrix
"What cha writing?'
Rodolphus staggers in, hung over from an evening of blissful torture, barely able to form a complete sentence.
"You're finally awake. Acting drunk and stupid, but at least you're up. Narcissa had her baby."
"A boy?'
"Of course a boy. His name is Draco. This is a letter to the Malfoys congratulating them. They'll be expecting us there for a visit in a few days."
Rodolphus grunts. Bella has already made herself coffee, but she didn't make any for him. He turns to his wife.
"Bella, do you want kids?'
She doesn't even turn her head.
"Don't be daft, Rodolphus."
She goes to the window to mail the owl, leaving Rodolphus to wonder what she means by daft.
xxxxx
Fatherhood is not settling well with Lucius.
Of course, he doesn't mind the steady flow of cigars. But St. Mungo's is buzzing with idiots who cast spells wrong and are too dim to figure out the remedy. Almost all of the Healers are filthy Muggle-lovers; he can sense it from the way they operate.
He was born in his mother's house. If it was good enough for his mother, it should be good enough for his wife.
His wife. He has the distinct memory of once being madly in love with Narcissa, but he supposes the novelty of being in love wears off rather quickly. Yet he loves the way her thin eyebrows furrow when she's angry and arch when she's amused. She cares so much about this baby.
"Excuse me," he addresses the nearest Healer, "when can I see my wife? And my son?"
"Just another twenty minutes, Mr. Malfoy. The Healers are administering standard newborn potions to your son, and your wife is resting. Please be patient."
She's off before he can ask any more questions. Typical.
The only reason they're here is because the Healers almost lost their heads four months ago. For a few hours, they thought there was a chance that Narcissa would lose the baby. They claimed (but really had no way of knowing for sure) the fetus was magically altered from outside the womb…
"What do you mean we may have a girl?" Lucius sneered at his wife.
"I went to St. Mungos this morning. They said I was too frail to withstand the sex-changing spell, so they don't want to risk it. Stupid of them really. They know how much you... we want this son."
"Healers know nothing about pain. Pain is power, Narcissa. Think of our son, an heir both our families can be proud of. I don't need to be a Healer to cast this spell."
The temperature in the room seemed to jump a thousand degrees. Lucius raised his wand.
"But I could still lose this baby, Lucius.." Narcissa whispered
She must have been trying to reason, but Lucius could hear the stutter in her voice. Fear. He'd teach his wife what it really means to be fearless.
"No fear!" he shouted as he thought the incantation.
Blue, electric blue, like the color of her eyes, knocked Narcissa off her feet and into the wall. She wailed, horrible, banshee-like wails that echoed in his ears. But he smiled when he saw she wasn't crying…
"Mr. Malfoy?'
"Yes?"
" Your wife is still resting, but you can hold your son now."
Lucius takes his son from the Healer. He's a Malfoy, through and through, but Lucius can see a bit of his mother's dignity. Draco. They decided on that name four months ago, when they didn't lose the baby. And he is a Draco, a dragon, a strong, fearless dragon. He has his mother's eyebrows.
And his father's eyes.
xxxxx
Considering she just gave birth, Narcissa feels a little out of sorts.
Maybe more than a little out of sorts. She feels like she is the baby, and Draco just gave birth to her. That certainly can't be normal.
She wants to get a good look at her son because she thinks he can actually scream louder than she can. So he's his mother's son, whatever Lucius claims about heirs and such. Mother. The word holds more gravity than she understands.
A Healer is holding Draco, wrapped in blue blankets and whimpering softly. She hands him to his mother wordlessly.
He's so familiar. Maybe it's just the sensation of seeing something that's been in her body for nine months. Maybe it's because he almost didn't exist. But now that he's here, the idea of him not existing is unfathomable.
The weight of the world is shifting, at least according to Lucius. A new world order. It's all Lucius talks about. Changes, he says, changes that will include his son.
Our son, Narcissa thinks. I'm his mother. And she understands.
She cradles Draco and holds on tight.
Fin.