Chapter 3: The Peacock and The Dragon

Draco was born on a Saturday, a home birth as painful and as unpleasant as any witch who gave birth at St Mungo's. Abraxas Malfoy had told his son to leave Narcissa with the midwife, but he had insisted he stand by her side - for he knew even with the strongest of potions his wife was likely to suffer. Lucius' father had seethed a little, presumably with the familiar complaint that Narcissa was influencing him to become too "modern", but simply went to his own study to allow them privacy.

The midwife had induced labour, more intensely painful and wildly undignified than she could have ever imagined. Bellatrix had not appeared, though Narcissa feared she might have appeared at some point to make this experience even more unbearable. She was only glad to have Lucius' hand to hold (with a vice grip) and the promise of a calming draught and champagne once the baby was born. God, she had really missed alcohol these last 9 months.

The midwife was a half-blood, but the best wizarding midwife in the whole of the Great Britain. Her hair was as dark as Bellatrix's, although tamed by a simple updo and with eyes as bright as her own - she was a pretty woman. She was built slimly, with a gentle manner and a soothing twang of somewhere in Scotland she could not place under the influence of the potions. In fact, as a result of her heavy medication, she found the swishing of the midwife's robes incredibly fascinating. Even as the witch examined her, she felt at ease in the company of the woman she would have usually considered beneath her. Narcissa merely smiled at her husband, only granting her a tight squeeze of the hand in return.

"It's time to start pushing, Mrs Malfoy," she informed her, kind and reassuring. She nodded curtly and squeezed Lucius' hand back.

The baby was far from pretty. In fact, he was covered in blood and his face rather resembled a beetroot in colour. His shrill cries filled the room, and she found she was crying too. She hadn't expected to like the little boy until he was old enough to form educated opinions, but she immediately felt such a strong bond with him beyond what she thought she was capable of feeling. She had grown up knowing a type of love which some people were not lucky enough to know, but nothing like that which she already felt for her son.

This little boy had known more love in his three minutes of life than Narcissa and Lucius had known their whole childhood. Real love, being showered with affection as well as possessions. He would be cherished and respected, as far as being a pureblood heir would allow. They would spoil him on birthdays and at Christmas, showing him the world during the holidays and reading him stories of great adventure at bedtime. This little boy was the heir to their fortune, the one who would carry on their family name - but he would not live a life without fun and without love. She was determined that he would not live the life his parents had.

Lucius pressed his lips against her hair, pulling her in tightly with words of encouragement whispered in her ear. Tears continued to flood her face, but she assured him she was merely tired. These were tears of joy.

"Would you like to hold your son, Mrs Malfoy?"

"Oh, Can I?" She asked, wiping away her tears. The midwife nodded with a smile and placed the little bundle in her arms. The boy had been cleaned up and wrapped in a cloth, no longer crying and now looking back at her brightly. His eyes were the same blue as her husbands, but his skin as fair as her own. He was a small child, although she wasn't all that sure what size a baby ought to be. She thought he would have been been bigger.

"Do you have a name in mind?" asked the midwife. Narcissa looked towards her husband, knowing her say in the matter was minimal. Lucius pondered for a moment.

"Do you like Draco?" Lucius said suddenly. "Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," she returned, smiling brightly back at her husband. He took a moment, tears brimming in his eyes in a rare display of emotion, before resting his hand on the baby's cheek. His relationship with his own father had been tumultuous to say the least, only speaking to one another now out of politeness. Abraxas had disapproved in his choice of wife ever since the day he had brought Narcissa Black to Malfoy Manor during the summer of her sixth year at Hogwarts. Their families had been friends for decades, but doubt had been cast on the Black Family since the middle child, Andromeda, had run away with some muggle born. Narcissa had also been keen to marry Lucius Malfoy, but only once she had completed her education. Lucius saw no issue with this, for he knew she valued intelligence and wisdom almost as much as she valued determination and ambition. His father would always make snide remarks that she might as well have been a Ravenclaw, bound to rebel as her sister had and God forbid, work.

But in spite of all of this, Lucius looked back at her that day with nothing but love. She felt she was privileged to have bore his child for 9 months, she was privileged to wake up beside him every single morning and more so would she be privileged to spend everyday at his side, raising his child and playing the role of dutiful wife. She would do anything for the men in her life. It was no great sacrifice to her when she loved them both so much.

Narcissa Malfoy was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of her husband scraping far too much butter onto much too pale toast. Usually she'd have scrunched up her nose at his over-indulgence, but this morning she was only glad for a semblance of normality. She did not indulge in the meal and had not eaten since they returned from Hogwarts - instead opting for a mere cup of coffee alongside her copy of the Daily Prophet. Lucius hadn't pushed her into eating, not even a piece of fruit or a slice of toast, for his mind seemed to be preserving energy after being up all night.

She had started off as tearful, and then she felt her own rage attempt to consume her. After breaking a few perfume bottles, she cleaned up the damage she had caused and fell into her husband's arms, sobbing and wailing about the injustice of Draco's death. Lucius had led her to bed, hoping the feeling of the mattress would settle her into at least a light sleep. Instead, this only made her feel worse and she pulled him in tighter, burying her wet face in his robes. They were out of calming draught and alcohol only brought out Narcissa's weepy tendencies.

So, they let the wave pass without self-medicating and both woke up numb and exhausted.

"Did you manage to get any sleep at all last night?" He asked suddenly, no longer interested in his toast. Putting it down on his plate, he leaned forward to give her his full attention.

She shook her head, "Not a wink. I would have went for a walk around the grounds, but I didn't want to wake you. So I just thought about things for a while until it was time to get up."

Lucius sighed, looking down at his copy of the Daily Prophet. His eyes rolled a little before he cleared his throat.

"'Harry Potter Saves Wizarding World: He-who-must-not-be-named dead'," he said, with a drawl of annoyance in his tone. "I rather wish the Dark Lord had killed him in the forest. You rather got all of our hopes up when you said he was dead. What a pity…"

Absentmindedly, she took a sip from her coffee, cursing under her breath when she felt how cold the coffee was. Looking around for the house elf, she could not spot the useless little thing anywhere.

"Skippy!" She called, clenching her fists under the table. A small pop to her right, and the creature appeared, shaking.

"Mistress. How can Skippy be of service?"

"Do I look like a muggle, Skippy?"

Her wide eyes looked up at Narcissa, confused. But still, she shook her head.

"No, mistress. You are a pureblood witch from the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Lucius cocked his head curiously at his wife, but said nothing. He pretended to review the newspaper, filled with stories of bravery and sacrifice of the winning side. Narcissa had noted a story about her niece, Nymphadora mid-way through the articles, but she wouldn't dare admit she had read it curiously. It had been an odd few days, but nothing could justify an interest in the 'blood traitor' and her family.

"That is correct, Skippy. Well done," she replied, her voice all but dripping in sarcasm. "Muggles might voluntarily drink cold coffee, they might even order it on purpose - but as we have just clarified, only moments ago, I am not a muggle. Do you understand my inference, Skippy?"

The stupid little thing stared at her blankly, then at her coffee cup, "Mistress, Skippy promises that her coffee was hot when Skippy made it. Perhaps it's went cold."

"If it's not too much trouble for you, runt, I'd like a fresh cup of coffee," she demanded, thrusting the cup into the small creature's hands. "And if you don't mind, I'd like it now. Stop staring at me, you little freak and get it done."

Skippy scurried from the room, lukewarm coffee sloshing from the sides of the cup onto the dark, wooden floor - the same floor she had cleaned the blood of goblins from only last week. She could still see the stains if she focused hard enough, which was precisely why she did not. Instead, she looked around the table, trying to ascertain what was missing from their usual breakfast setup. Toast. Cereal. Bacon. Sausages. Eggs. Fruit. Tea. Coffee. 2 plates. 2 mugs. 3 chairs.

Draco.

The walls started to close in suddenly at the reminder that her beautiful son had died. He would never again join them for breakfast. Two cups of tea, a slice of toast, two sausages and an egg - every single morning. She looked around, expecting to see him at his usual place across from her - teasing her about her two cups of coffee, but only a measly piece of fruit for sustenance. Half expecting him to be there, asking her about any interesting articles in the newspaper, she looked again. Just an empty chair.

Her heart pounded against her heaving chest.

He was really dead. Only 17 years old, killed by a friend of his father's and for what? Sport? A sense of his parents' betrayal impending? He was supposed to graduate from Hogwarts and work his way up in the Ministry for Magic, then find some beautiful woman to fall in love with and have children of his own. He should have taken over this great big house and made it a home. Now she looked at his empty seat with nothing but despair filling her entire being. Why did it feel like the world was crumbling around her? Why couldn't she remember to breathe?

Lucius seemed to pick up on this, that something wasn't right. He only put down his paper and reached for her hand which was growing more clammy with each passing minute. She took deep breaths to try and steady herself, to remember she and Lucius were not alone and that it wouldn't do to become worked up. It wouldn't bring Draco back. Narcissa tried to remain calm, because even in the wake of her only child's death, she knew of no other way to be. Calm. Composed. Dignified. She only need focus on her husband's hand in her own. One deep breath at a time is all it would take.

"Mistress," squeaked Skippy, nervously handing her the fresh cup of coffee. Narcissa didn't reach for it, too afraid of what she might do if she did. Her husband often joked about the volatility of his wife, how her temper was not to be tested when she was angry or upset. Well, Narcissa Malfoy was upset, and this little elf was testing her. She kept her gaze stoic, hoping the creature would place it on the table and leave her alone. But it persisted.

"Mistress," it repeated, and this time she could not contain herself. Raising her hand, she smacked the cup and saucer out of its hands and Skippy winced as the china smashed upon hitting the floor. More stains. She would worry about that later. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to beat the stupid elf senseless.

She was never violent towards the elves, usually left such an undertaking to her husband. But she was so incredibly angry, she didn't care that it was cowering away in fear. She wanted some way to avenge her son's death, to feel better - the elf was just unlucky to have not understood exactly what Narcissa wanted without her having to say it. She didn't want to be spoken to, she just wanted hot coffee with no commentary and she wanted her son back home where he belonged, and nothing else would do. Narcissa had complete control over the elf and after the past 2 years of her life, she welcomed any illusion of control in her life.

Lucius' presence at her side was sudden, holding back the hand she had prepared to hit the elf with. His eyes locked with her in sadness, only sorry he couldn't take the pain she was feeling away and held her hand tightly.

"I just don't know how to be," she admitted, letting her husband guide her from the room. He led her into his study and shut the door behind them, setting her down on the seat by the window. With a sigh, he lowered himself down to his knees in front of her.

"You're not violent, Cissa. If I thought it would bring Draco back, I'd let you beat that stupid elf to death. If I thought it was in any way beneficial, I'd suggest you torture it into the same levels of insanity currently occupied by the Longbottom family. In any case, I also know that you hate using the unforgivable curses and think that raising a hand to anyone is beneath you. You'd only torture yourself tonight. Don't let this change you. You're stronger than you know, my darling and we will find a way to survive."

"Do you honestly think we'll escape Azkaban?" She said nastily. "After everything we've done, do you honestly think they'll let us walk? I don't want to get away with this! I want shot with a killing curse in front of the entire wizarding world because then, and only then, will I be absolved of all this guilt I feel. If we hadn't given the Dark Lord our support this time around-"

"We'd all be dead," Lucius interrupted. She looked away, hoping to avoid his eyes. Lucius guided her line of vision back to him, watching her tremble in an effort to control her tears.

"We might as well be," she returned defiantly. "We'll be sent to Azkaban, Lucius. You and I - we are abominable in their eyes. Perhaps we are. That's why Draco died, to punish us. We can't be granted execution, for this is our punishment."

He stood up and walked to the window, barely glancing in her direction as he spoke, "You are tired and concussed. I don't think you understand what you're saying. Draco is… Draco died because someone killed him. Not because we are 'bad' people. You have never murdered another person, you could barely manage the cruciatus curse the only time you've tried to cast it and the time we had prisoners in our cellar, I know you saw to it that they were brought food by the house elves."

She stood up quickly, "Are you calling me weak?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, mumbling something under his breath. She waited expectantly, frustration quickly growing inside of her. Lucius finally let his hands fall to his side and he turned back to her, face finally showing months of fatigue. Narcissa felt a pang of guilt inside of her; she was just being confrontational for the sake of it. Being confrontational was a nice distraction from the death of her son. But it was far from helpful.

"Narcissa, I'm not calling you weak," he said, impressive amounts of patience in his manner. "What I am saying, is that perhaps some of this guilt you've taken on is unfounded. No, we're probably very bad people in the eyes of the wizarding world, but if they come for us-"

"When they come for us," she muttered, but he carried on.

"If they come for us, the Wizengamot will decide for us what our punishment ought to be. Until then, let us not assume the worst. I'm sure the Minister for Magic will not fail to bestow on us the punishment he sees fit when we come to trial. He will give us nothing more or less than what we deserve."

Lucius was right. Although the newly appointed Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was muggle-loving and very clearly on the side of The Order - he was a fair man. Kingsley Shacklebolt was peaceful and fiercely intelligent, for Narcissa remembered the younger man from his years at Hogwarts. Her husband loathed him, however, as he was nothing more than a blood traitor to their kind. Narcissa's loathing was reserved for a select few witches and wizards, preferring a sneering and inconvenienced approach to most others. Kingsley was the recipient of bored indifference from Narcissa Malfoy, not malice.

She merely nodded and slumping into her husband's side, let him wrap his arms around her waist. Feeling much safer than she deserved to, Narcissa remained by his side, watching the sun split through tiny gaps in the trees outside. Gracefully, a white peacock strode past the window and a rabbit rustled in one of the rose bushes by the path. She realised most of the living creatures which were once in abundance in the ornamental gardens had been notably absent since the Dark Lord moved into the Manor at the end of last summer. She and Draco would spend the warmer months reading and sketching, respectively, taking in the simplicity of the lives led by the nature inhabiting their gardens. Narcissa could hear the scratching of Draco's art quills in her mind, which should have irritated her when she was trying to concentrate on her novels, but it soothed her as much as the beautiful lilies and snow white roses and swaggering peacocks did. The sound filled her presence and brought a sad smile to her face.

"I'm sorry, Lucius. I shouldn't have behaved like that," she said at last, not moving an inch from her husband's embrace. She feared if she dared to let go, he too would disappear from her side.

"Don't think on it a moment longer," he replied, his voice quieter and softer than it had been in a long time. "There's nothing to dictate how one ought to behave when their child dies."

"If your father were here-"

"He's not here, though," Lucius said rather too quickly. "Until the Ministry come for us, it's just you and I."

She nodded, willing away the tears which threatened to fall from her misty eyes. Narcissa watched the peacock strutting around the garden, no purpose in particular for its wanderings - perhaps only grateful it was no longer at risk of being senselessly murdered by a death eater. Shaking out its feathers, the bird hopped up onto a low wall and took in its surroundings, ones it had barely had a chance to observe in the longest of time. Its dark little eyes opened as wide as they would allow, mesmerised by the rare glow of light emulating from the sky, surrounded by bright blue instead of the black, stormy skies she had convinced herself were perpetual. Then its eyes fell on Narcissa and Lucius watching the beautiful creature from the window. Rattling its feathers and spreading them above its head, the peacock looked almost angelic on the bright day with its feathers surrounding its head like a halo of sorts. Its eyes were trained on Narcissa, almost as though it knew she had always found joy in the way in the display of train-rattling by its kind.

Narcissa choked on her tears, before speaking in a voice far too high to belong to the haughty and cold presence she had learned to hold, "I'm sorry if I never told you that I love you enough."

He paused, seemingly taken aback by her claim. Lucius was very much aware of the intense love his wife held for this entire family, had never questioned this fact about her. She could feel his body shake against hers, mistakenly thinking she had angered him with her admission.

"I love you, too," he whispered, pulling her closer so that she was completely in his arms. This was a side of her husband she had not seen in a while, as Azkaban had rendered him quicker tempered and much more volatile in nature. But in spite of this, she never doubted how much she meant to her husband. While his sanity wavered, his love for his family never could be doubted. He was tough on Draco, granted, but a desire to instil discipline was not mutually exclusive of a desire to love and cherish one's child.

"Did Draco know how much we love him?"

Narcissa pulled back from her husband, shocked he would dare ask such a thing. There was nothing but sincerity in his pale grey eyes, looking back at her in expectance. Any other time she would have been furious with him for doubting the strength of their family's love for one another, but this was not any other time. Their family had been ruptured.

"Yes," she replied, voice thick with emotion. "It is the only thing I can be certain of."

Thank you for reading, Chapter 4 will be up soon!