The days passed slowly, but each one brought Lucius's return closer. At the end of January, with the baby due in a few weeks, the Midwife and her assistant came to stay at Malfoy Manor. This was something Lucius had arranged. He had wanted to take no chance of me going into labour alone.

February was almost over, and my wait - for the birth, and for Lucius's release - was nearing an end, when Father told me the news.

He apparated directly into the house - and that act alone told me something was wrong. Even family members would rarely apparate unannounced into a home. I was in the dining room, just finishing my breakfast of toast and weak tea - all I could get down first thing, now that I was so big. Father burst through the door, and came to where I sat, indicating that I shouldn't get up. He sat down and took my hands.

"Nathalie - I wanted to tell you before you hear from anyone else..." I felt a clutch of fear, as he went on, "I just came from the Ministry of Magic. There has been trouble at Azkaban. Some of the old Death Eaters staged an uprising, and it turned into a full-scale riot. The Ministry officials are getting the upper hand but... Nathalie, the Death Eaters killed several prisoners..."

I gulped, fighting down the nausea that rose in my throat. "Lucius...?" I whispered.

Father shook his head. "I don't know. It's chaos there, no-one has all the facts. I do know that Lucius was supposed to be kept separately from the other prisoners but..." Father stood up and pulled me into his arms. "Don't give up hope! I'm going back to the Ministry now, and as soon as I know - anything - I'll come back and let you know."

I nodded, holding back tears. "Thank you, Father."

He patted my shoulder. "I'm sure there will be more news soon. Now you must rest. Is someone with you?" I told him about the Midwife, and he nodded. "Good. She'll take care of you."

He disapparated, and I sat down heavily. So close to his release - surely Lucius couldn't be dead...

The morning passed agonizingly slowly. I tried to stay calm, but every time I thought about what Father had told me, a little jolt of fear ran through me. It was around noon when I began to suspect that it was more than fear rippling through my body. I lay on the sofa in the drawing room, waiting to see if it happened again. Sure enough, the heavy, squeezing sensation was centred on my belly. Scared, I called the Midwife, and described what I felt. She sat with me until the next spasm, her hands resting gently on my belly, and after it passed, she nodded. "You're in labour. It's going to take hours, but we'll get you up to the bedroom, anyway. Plenty of space there for you to walk around if you need to."

The afternoon dragged even slower than the morning, with my contractions gradually becoming stronger and more frequent. The Midwife was concerned because I was running a fever, and when I started to become dizzy and disoriented, she suggested that I would be better off in bed.

The sky darkened, it began to rain, and by the time night fell, torrential rain was pouring down, blown by high winds so that it rattled against the windows. The contractions seemed to repeat endlessly. With my fever, my ability to keep track of time had vanished, and I had no idea whether I had been in labour for days or merely hours.

During the times when my fever peaked, I believed that I could see Lucius standing silently at my bedside, dressed as he had been when I last saw him, his hair hanging loose over his shoulders. Each hallucination ended the same way – I called his name, but as he opened his lips to speak, he faded from sight, and I wept with hopeless frustration. I started to wonder if I was really just imagining that I saw him. Could I instead be seeing a ghost? Had he died in the riot at Azkaban, and was he now trying to say goodbye before going on ahead.

A new pang gripped me, the worst yet, and I cried out in pain. The midwife tried to examine me again to gauge how far my labour had progressed, but her lightest touch was excruciating, and I shrieked, my hands clutching the sheets so hard that my fingers tore the fabric. She paused in her task, murmuring instructions to her assistant, who mixed up a potion and brought it to me. I drank it, tasting spices and a faint bitter aftertaste. Soon, I was calmer and my hypersensitivity to touch had dulled, so that when the midwife repeated her examination, the pain was bearable.

"Still a way to go," she told me.

In a few hours, the effect of the potion had started to wear off, and with that my fever spiked again. I was sweating heavily, my head spinning, and nausea rose in waves. A long agonizing contraction gripped me, and as it ebbed I closed my eyes, lying limply against the pillows. I didn't know how much longer I could take this. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the baby out of me. Most of all, I wanted my husband. Weakly, hopelessly, I called his name.

"I'm here."

I opened my eyes, staring wildly at the figure by my bedside. "Lucius?" I whispered. Surely it was another hallucination . But in all my previous visions, he had looked as I last saw him – elegant, immaculate. And I never heard his voice. The man who sat on the edge of the bed and took my hands was barely recognizable. His face was bruised and bloodied. His nose had been broken very recently, and blood had soaked the rags he wore, and dried in his dirty blonde beard. His hair was filthy, matted with blood and dirt, and most of its length had been hacked off raggedly.

I reached out to him, and he pulled me into his arms. Not surprisingly – given his appearance – he stank, but I didn't care as I pressed my face to his chest, weeping. "You're alive. You came back to me," I sobbed.

"Yes, my love," he murmured, kissing me despite his split and swollen lips. He looked up at the midwife. "How much longer?"

She frowned. "Another hour – perhaps two."

Lucius nodded and stood up, releasing me. I caught his hand frantically. "Don't go!"

"Just a few minutes. Just while I wash off this filth."

I nodded, tears still falling, watching as he walked towards the bathroom.

When he returned, the dirt and ragged clothing were gone, but the battered state of his face was frighteningly obvious, bruises and inflamed cuts and scratches standing out lividly against his deathly white skin. His shirt was only partly buttoned, and I could see that his wounds extended to his body. He sat on the bed and took me in his arms again, holding me silently. I relaxed slightly, but at that moment a fresh contraction gripped me. Our reunion would have to wait. I still had a baby to deliver.

The contractions were coming closer and closer together, the pain intensifying with each spasm. But with Lucius holding me, his arms around me and my hands gripping his, I knew I could get through it. "Here it comes," the midwife told me, as I bore down, pushing with all my strength. Lucius kissed the side of my face, murmuring encouragement. "Ah, I can see the head..." the midwife said, and at that moment I felt something give way. There was an intense, rending surge of agony, and I screamed, barely hearing the midwife exclaim, "The head tore you – but it's through now. Just one more push..."

Somehow I managed that push, and seconds later I heard a thin, high cry. In that instant, the pain was forgotten, and the tears on my face sprang from relief and joy. I looked down as the midwife placed the squalling infant on my belly, and I reached to touch the slippery skin. Lucius leaned forward to look, then turned to me. "We have a son," he told me, and his lips met mine gently.

The midwife and her assistant continued their work, cutting the cord, washing the baby, and cleaning up the bloody aftermath of birth. I felt a prickling, burning sensation as the Midwife wielded her wand. "I healed that tear – you'll never know it happened..." She smiled suddenly, looking at Lucius, and pointed her wand at him. There was a faint crunching sound, and Lucius grunted and put a hand to his face. When he lowered his hand, I saw that his broken nose was mended, though bruising still discoloured his puffy eyelids.

The Midwife's assistant handed a wailing bundle to Lucius. He looked down at the child, and a slight spasm of pain flickered across his face. "He looks just like..." He looked up at me, and I saw mingled joy and sadness in his eyes. I realized that he saw in our baby the echo of another child, his first son, now dead. Then he smiled, and put the baby into my arms.

I touched the downy platinum hair, then I opened the front of my nightgown, and guided my nipple into the baby's searching mouth. He latched on immediately, and I watched, mesmerized as he began to draw nourishment from my body. Lucius slid his arm across my shoulders, then closed his eyes and leaned his face against my neck. Something damp trickled onto my skin, and I looked sideways, realizing with wonder and a surge of tenderness, that my husband was weeping. I put my free hand up to touch his as it rested on my shoulder, and laced my fingers with his. When he raised his head, he had recovered his composure, and we sat together for a long time, just watching our newborn son nurse at my breast.

After a while, the Midwife suggested that they should clean up the bed, and me, and then they could leave me to rest. While the Midwife washed me, her assistant collected fresh bedding and a clean nightgown. I sat on the edge of bed, and gave the baby to Lucius while the assistant helped me into the fresh nightgown. Before she could help me get up, however, Lucius put our son in the cradle standing ready beside the bed, and lifted me in his arms. On our wedding night, he had carried me up a flight of stairs without effort; but now he staggered slightly, and moved to sit on the wicker sofa under the window, still holding me close. As I leaned my head against his shoulder, I could feel how much thinner he was than before he went to Azkaban.

I looked up at his face, but instead of asking if he had been deprived of food, I said, "Who cut off your hair?"

His face tightened slightly. "I did, after the first week - long hair is too easy to grab during a fight..." He met my gaze. "We don't need to talk about that now." He kissed me gently. "All that matters is that I kept the promise I made to you."

I nodded. "I'm so glad you were here to see him born. Now we just need to name him. I thought..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I'd like to name him after the place where he was conceived. I know we've talked about that, and I know how you feel about giving him his own name, his own identity. So - I thought we could call him Luca."

Lucius nodded, took my chin in his hand, and kissed me. "Yes. We'll call him Luca."

The bed was ready, made up with fresh sheets and blankets. This time, I stood up and walked the few painful steps, supported by Lucius,. Once I was settled, and the Midwife and her assistant had left the bedroom, I took Lucius's hand. "You look so tired. Lie beside me and rest."

He nodded and walked around to the other side of the bed. I watched him, noting the utter exhaustion in every movement. As he lay down on the bed, he flinched, and shifted so that he was half on his side, facing me. I slid down among the pillows and reached for his hand once more. He had already closed his eyes, but his fingers tightened over mine. I glanced over at the cradle, then back at Lucius. My son on one side, my husband on the other. I had everything I wanted.

I woke several hours later to an unaccustomed sound. In his cradle, Luca was whimpering. I sat up, noticing that my breasts tingled, feeling full and heavy. Luca started to wail as I fumbled my way through changing him, and I was sure that he would disturb Lucius, but when I got back to bed, I saw that he was still sleeping.

After Luca finished nursing, I settled him more snugly in my arms and glanced at Lucius once more. He was lying on his front now, his face turned towards me. His skin was flushed, and it struck me that he was breathing much faster than I would have expected for a man asleep. Frowning, I leaned closer and reached to touch his cheek. He was burning hot. I cradled Luca on one arm, and shook Lucius's shoulder. "Lucius!"

He didn't stir, even when I shoved him hard. I put my hand on his forehead, shocked at how hot and damp it felt. He must be sick to have such a high fever - maybe one of his wounds was infected... I suddenly remembered how he had flinched when his back touched the bed. I pushed back the covers and pulled his shirt up. It stuck to his back for a moment, then came away, revealing a deep gash running from his left shoulder blade almost to his waist. It was more than a simple cut - it looked as if a narrow channel of flesh had been gouged out. The edges were puffy and ragged, shining wetly with blood-streaked pus that oozed from the wound.

I stared at it in horror for a few moments. Then I got out of bed and went to find the Midwife. She was with her assistant in the small sitting room assigned to them during their stay. When I appeared in the doorway, clutching the baby in my arms, they jumped to their feet looking anxious, but I said, "No, it's not me or the baby. My husband - he's ill, a fever. I think one of his wounds is infected.

The Midwife examined the wound, then told her assistant what to fetch from her medical supplies. She worked on the wound with wand and potions, and eventually looked up at me. She held a potion-soaked dressing to the wound as she said, "The wound is clean now. But the infection is in his blood stream. I've treated it, but it will take a while to clear completely." She finished positioning the dressing, using a charm to make it stick to the skin. "Now I must check that he has no other sites of infection."

Together, she and her assistant stripped off Lucius's clothes and began to examine him. Sitting on the bed watching, with Luca sleeping in my arms, I had a sudden urge to giggle at the thought of how Lucius would react if he were to regain consciousness now, to find himself stark naked with two strange women examining every inch of his body. Soon, however, my desire to laugh vanished, as I saw just how bad Lucius's physical condition was. As I'd noticed earlier, he had lost a lot of weight; and he was covered in bruises and wounds, some old and some inflicted recently. The Midwife found several other infected wounds, but none as bad as the one on his back. She treated each wound, healing the minor ones completely, and covering the worst ones with medicated dressings. At last, she draped a clean sheet over Lucius, now lying face down again to keep the pressure off the worst wound.

When the two Healers had gone back to their rooms, I lay down beside Lucius. I stroked his face, brushing loose ends of white-blonde hair from his eyes. He seemed slightly cooler, his breathing less laboured. But he was still very ill, and I swallowed hard, trying not to cry at the thought that although he was now free, I could easily have lost him to blood poisoning.

Luca was fussing again, and I settled him at my breast, letting him nurse as I lay and watched over my husband.

Towards morning, I found myself dozing. I was exhausted; I'd only slept for a few hours after the birth, and my anxiety over Lucius was very wearing. My eyes drifted shut, and I could feel sleep creeping through me, when a movement brought me back to wakefulness. Lucius was stirring. He shifted a little, groaning softly, and his eyes flickered open. For a moment he stared blankly ahead, then he lifted his head and his eyes met mine.

"How do you feel?" I asked softly, trying not to wake the sleeping baby.

"Terrible," he murmured, wincing as his swollen lips cracked and bled.

"You're ill - the wound on your back is infected."

He nodded slightly, then put his head back down and closed his eyes. After a few moments he reopened them, and ran his tongue over his split lips. "A drink," he whispered. I nodded, and sat up. I put Luca on the bed beside me, then reached for the water jug and goblet on the nightstand. I poured some water and as I held it out to him, Lucius turned painfully onto his side, and raised himself on one elbow. It was an awkward position, and I helped him hold the goblet to his lips while he drank.

He drained the water then lay down again, still on his side. I put the goblet back on the stand, and when I turned back, his eyes were closed. I thought he was sleeping again, but he half-opened his eyes again. "Nat..." He took my hand, drew it to his lips, and kissed my fingers. His lips were cool, the fever almost gone.

I settled Luca, still sleeping soundly, in his cradle, slid down beside Lucius, and finally gave in to my need for sleep.

It was a week before Lucius was well enough to get up. We spent that week sleeping, talking, and getting to know our new son. On the last day we spent in this fashion, we were lying in bed, watching Luca who lay between us, his pale eyes open, gazing upwards with that expression, common to newborns, of total bafflement at his surroundings. Lucius placed his finger in the baby's palm, smiling at the strength of Luca's reflex grasp. I watched them, feeling a surge of emotion at the sight of my son and his father together. At length I sighed, and Lucius looked up at me.

"Something wrong?"

"Not really." I smiled. "Well, I suppose it depends on your point of view... my family wants to visit, and see the baby."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. They'll understand if you're not up to it, I can entertain them myself for a few hours..."

Lucius shook his head. "There's no need for that. We will introduce our son to his grandparents together."

"And his aunts? My sisters have been allowed a special one-day outing from school."

"I don't see why not."

We watched Luca for a while longer, and after a while I said, "Of course, it's not my sisters who are the problem - or even Father..."

I saw Lucius grin. By now he was well-acquainted with my mother's personality. I told him about my clash with her at Christmas, and he laughed. "No doubt she will observe the proprieties on a social call!"

My family arrived in the early afternoon next day, and the visit went off without a problem. Predictably, my sisters were thrilled with their nephew, and even Mother unbent a little when I placed her grandson in her arms. Father and Lucius talked easily, and I realized that it wouldn't take long for Lucius to slip back into his accustomed lifestyle.

Luca was just over a month old when I knew that Lucius had fully recovered. It was early morning, and I had just got Luca back to sleep after feeding him. I eased him into his cradle, and settled down, ready for a couple more hours of sleep, but my husband had other ideas. I turned on my side to find him watching me. I smiled sleepily, and he moved closer, taking me into his arms. We kissed, gently at first, then Lucius's arms tightened around me, his mouth more insistent on mine, and I responded eagerly.

With his imprisonment and subsequent illness, it had been more than four months since we'd made love. My desire flared readily. I slid my hands over Lucius's chest and stomach. A month of eating properly again had done a lot to restore him, and he no longer felt thin under my hands. We moved urgently against each other, kissing, touching, moaning as we rediscovered each others' responses, until finally we both cried out, and he stilled, looking down at me.

I looked up at Lucius, shaken by the intensity of my love for him, and murmured endearments as he told me, over and over, that he loved me.

There is little more to tell. Luca was fourteen months old, just walking, when his brother Gervais was born. The twins, Gilles and Cesaire followed two years later. And when we saw Luca off to his first term at Hogwarts, our daughter Isabelle was four months old. Luca, incidentally, made school history as the first Malfoy not sorted into Slytherin. He followed my example by becoming a Ravenclaw. All four boys take after Lucius physically, instantly recognizable as Malfoys by their grey eyes, pale skin and white-blond hair. Isabelle has my colouring, and a double portion of her father's determination.

Lucius continued his business dealings; no doubt he has made more enemies. Although his Death Eater days are long over, his determination is accompanied by a ruthless streak, that makes him a formidable opponent in anything he undertakes.

Our marriage is a rarity; an arranged betrothal that has proved, after all, to be a love match.