I do not own Harry Potter.
Since Christmas, nothing exciting had happened at the Malfoy manor. Narcissa read a bit, hosted a bit, and prepared the room for the baby. She even experimented with cooking a little, though Dobby was perfectly capable, and kept her disappointment to herself when Lucius raged at the elf for ruining dinner– never knowing it was his own wife's gourmet.
Yet excitement was due. Narcissa had been feeling the child inside her stirring for some time. She had pleasant fantasies of what the day would be like when it came: She would gracefully seize her belly, Lucius there beside her, and breathe out, "It's time." He would take her to the bedroom and call the mediwitch, who would Apparate immediately to the house for such an important call. The baby would come quickly and easily, and everyone would fawn over the beautiful child, boy or girl. Lucius would chose the name if it were a boy; she, if it were a girl. In keeping with Black tradition– even if only on the maternal side– the child would be named for a star or constellation. However, as Narcissa acknowledged this, she realized she herself had not even been named so. It was atrophy of the tradition; she would resurrect it.
However, she was alone when she started feeling the heaves of her contractions. They were much more violent than she had imagined– she had counted upon gentle vibrations, not too distant from the occasion kick she felt from the baby. Instead, she felt violent lurches that rocked her thin body to the point she could barely stand it and feared she might be sick.
Her fantasy completely broke with her water.
She saw the mess on the floor and nearly fainted; she went over and laid on the davenport, screaming feebly for Dobby. Lucius was gone– he was gone so often now, how could she have expected him to have been by? He was all the way at the Ministry. She needed help, and now. Lucius wouldn't know what to do.
Her mind scanned the options as she gazed up at the stone ceiling, wishing that, in all her luxury, she was not alone. Her aunt was far too old to have to deal with birthing. Bellatrix, having started nothing towards family, would have no idea. Labor was a subject too personal to bring to the attention of anyone else, and she wouldn't have it.
It struck her. The one person she associated most with pregnancy. In fact, the last time she had seen her she had been with child– and that was quite the reason it was the last.
She still remembered Andromeda's face as she packed her things, accepting her fate calmly and without complaint . . . the sad way she was seen out the door, her head bowed, her parents' faces cold. Narcissa had watched her in silence that day, understood that she was not to speak to her. Andromeda's belly had bulged slightly, growing with the seed of the Muggle-born she had told no one in the family she loved– until it came out all too clearly.
"Dobby!" she rasped, feeling herself lurch once more. "Fetch me . . . ink, paper . . . owl!" She pressed her hand to her middle and tried to concentrate on breathing. It was straining her frail figure; sweat adhered messed curls of hair to her forehead, and her green velvet dress hung limply in wet folds around her thin legs.
Dobby scurried to the rescue, understanding that this was not the time to waste time. Narcissa scrawled out an urgent message and bid the elf send it. He did, and she fell back again, nearly ready to faint, her breathing too shallow to be helpful.
Andromeda was in the middle of the messy hours of motherhood, making Nymphadora lunch as the toddler prodded her leg with a chopstick, pretending to be "healing" it as she played wizard doctor. She had just wrestled the girl into her chair before her peanut butter and jelly when the elegant snowy owl flew in her window. Nymphadora laughed and turned her hair white to match.
She read the letter with cynicism; Narcissa, she had expected, would never require her assistance. A blood traitor like Andromeda was the last person she would want bringing her pure baby into the world. In case of a ruse, she summoned for the neighbor witch to watch over Nymphadora while she went alone and well-armed.
Andromeda was ushered inside by Dobby as soon as she arrived, and the minute she saw Narcissa sprawled in her state on the green silk davenport, she understood.
"'Meda," Narcissa breathed, "I'm so glad you're here . . . "
Andromeda did not say anything, but helped straighten Narcissa out on the couch. "Are you sure you want to do it here? It's going to get awfully messy. Don't you have a bed somewhere?"
"The birthing room, silly." Narcissa tried to laugh, but little came out.
Her sister sighed and performed the Mobilius Charm. It took so much effort, with keeping her hoisted over stairs and through yards and yards of hallway– and a few missed turns– that Andromeda was nearly as tired as Narcissa when the mother-to-be was safely in bed.
"Birthing rooms," Andromeda scoffed. "I'd forgotten all about birthing rooms." She remembered the Black version of the room from her childhood, but only vaguely, as she had only been present at the births of three family members: Sirius, Narcissa, and Regulus– and at ages one, two, and three, respectively. Her present house had only one bedroom, which was so much more efficient and practical. It lacked romance, certainly, but at least if she were ever to require mobilizing to a bed, no one would get lost.
Narcissa smiled feebly.
"Mr. Malfoy isn't around, I see?" Andromeda observed, still coldly. She sent Dobby for some water and a towel, which he went for without even questioning his mistress first. When he returned, she took over, bidding he find Lucius Malfoy as fast as he could, by any means necessary.
"Lucius hasn't been around often. He's been–"Narcissa caught herself, "–working."
Andromeda bit her lip. "With a place like this, I wouldn't think you would have to work." She felt a slight bitterness rise up inside of her, infused with nostalgia and a long-lost but never forgotten longing for home. She could have been the wife of the lord of a manor, and have such luxury.
Yet then, she thought, her bitterness melting and softening, she wouldn't have had Ted and Nymphodora. She'd rather have had Nymphodora to a man she loved in her own humble bed than some unloved child to a society man in a grand room specially laid aside for that purpose.
"Well, it's more of a society function," said Narcissa lightly, punctuating with a contraction that made her squeeze her eyes shut in pain. "He's working for the campaign, you know . . . "
"Yes," Andromeda agreed. She hadn't been very keen on politics lately; Rookwood and Malfoy were too pro-pureblood, but on the other hand, Crouch was too anti-pro-pureblood. Nobody seemed to have a middle ground. Maybe she would vote for that neophyte Fudge fellow, just for a statement against the other two. "Oh, Merlin, Narcissa . . . breathe!" She sighed in exasperation. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you the right way to breathe?"
"No . . . "Narcissa whined.
Andromeda felt her irritation melt. Narcissa was still just her little sister– prettier than she, with her stunning golden hair, perfect figure, flawless skin, but still so weak, with her tiny body that looked as if it could barely carry a child. Andromeda had always been tiny, too, but next to Narcissa, she felt downright huge. She was much more built for motherhood. Narcissa, she worried, might find it dangerous.
"I hope you're going to be able to do this," she said. "It's going to be hard work; you're so small."
Narcissa damned Lucius in her head for refusing her that butter.
The labor went on. Andromeda wiped Narcissa's forehead as she worked, and, as the baby finally came, nearly two hours later, was the first to hold him, wrapping the tiny thing in a bundle of blankets.
"It's a he," Andromeda announced, as the new being screamed bloody murder. "You've got your heir; you don't ever have to do that again if you don't want to," she laughed. Then she passed the baby to the mother, patting her sore ears.
Just in time, Lucius Malfoy Apparated. The women could hear him downstairs, coming up to the room. He entered, his hair tousled and his chest heaving.
"Tough job, campaigning, isn't it?" Andromeda mused.
Lucius narrowed his eyes. He recognized her; she was the disowned blood traitor– one of an astounding amount from the Blacks. His eyes shifted to Narcissa on the bed. She turned the baby to see him.
"Name, Lucius?" she asked, not wanting to concern him with Andromeda. "It's a boy," she added proudly.
Lucius furrowed his eyebrows. The baby was still red-faced, and, though the screams had died down, he was crying away as if he found the world the most miserable existence imaginable. "Why hasn't he got any hair?" Lucius demanded to know.
"Well . . . "Narcissa bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Seeing as we're both blond, he's apt to be blond, too–"
"He's not bloody blond, he's bald."
"He'll grow hair later. You looked the same way when you were born, I'm sure," Narcissa explained.
Andromeda snorted. "You did, too, Cissa, I remember."
Narcissa blushed slightly; having anyone think of her– or even recall her– as in any way ugly simply did not work for her.
"Draco," said Lucius, after a second. "That's a constellation and a good, dignified name." He looked back to Andromeda. "And . . . Mrs . . . "
"Tonks," said Andromeda, back to her coldness. "Narcissa summoned me here, as I was the only one available who knew anything about childbirth. But, as I'm done, I think I'll be on my way now . . . "
She Apparated before either of the Malfoys could argue she stay– not that she expected it. It had been a nice diversion for the afternoon, briefly seeing her sister once again. They had even had a couple moments of what felt like sisterhood– or at least an echo of it. Lucius was still as cold as ever, and she knew she could never expect Narcissa to welcome her back with open arms– but, well, she had seen the baby, seen it first, in fact, and it was undeniable there was a connection fused there.
Narcissa fell asleep almost straight away, and Lucius didn't bother to move her from the room. Draco cried and carried on for several hours, and, wondering why Narcissa had been so careless as to forget to call a nanny, sat with the boy on the edge of the bed, trying feebly to console him.
Lucius had been completing yet another step in his master's rise to power. He had spent several hours in the Department of Mysteries with express permission from the Minister herself, only to do what he hadn't been given permission to do. The prophecy with which the Dark Lord was so concerned had not yet been sorted into its slot, and was still capable of being taken. He wondered why no one had thought of it before, before the Dark Lord himself showed up in the room to take it himself as was the expected requirement. He managed to move it easily– so easily it was almost pathetic.
Remus Lupin had told Caradoc Dearborn a long time ago about the list of signatories he had been so close to back in office. Since it would be too obvious what Remus was looking for, Caradoc offered to seek out the old file at the Ministry building, undercover as doing campaign work for Fudge– as any Death Eaters he encountered unawares would be too suspicious.
Caradoc assumed that Augustus Rookwood, having served in the department above Remus, would probably hold a copy of the file. He didn't expect that Augustus would have any qualms about giving it to him as a copy.
He was wrong.
Caradoc knocked on the door to Augustus's office in the bowels of the Ministry building, only a floor above the actual department, which was closed to all who did not work there. The door came open, however, and so Caradoc stepped inside. He saw two figures- one Augustus, and the other one well-known but whom Caradoc had never met before. He was tall, tan, blond, and muscular, a definite looker, but it took Caradoc a moment to realize who he was in good robes without his broom and Quidditch uniform: Ludo Bagman. Ludo grinned at Caradoc but then turned back to Augustus, who seemed tense and urgent. He had not noticed Caradoc's entrance.
"I'm telling you, that's all I know," Ludo shrugged, apparently having just explained something to Augustus.
Augustus pressed his hands hard into his desk so that his knuckles clenced white. "Ahh, Ludo, you're going to have to be more helpful than that . . . if you want to work under me in the Ministry you have to learn to be a little more . . . well . . . informative. Couldn't you have . . . have done something more . . . to get it out of him?"
Ludo looked worried about this failure, but he snorted. "What did you want me to do, torture them?"
Augustus opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, "Ludo, dear boy, your father was always so helpful to me, and I really do thank you for going through all this trouble. But I really do need to know. Are you completely positive they don't remember at all? You know the rules about prophecies; only the witnesses can recall- and the other witnesses are in either no position to tell us, or have told us all they know. We really need to know this," he leaned forward, his eyes boring into Ludo's.
Ludo backed off, grinning casually, obviously not as serious as Augustus. "All this over a lousy label for one of a million silver orbs. Augustus, you need a hobby." He scooped a briefcase- a very unwonted prop for Ludo- and walked out.
Caradoc came forward. "Excuse me, Mr. Rookwood- I couldn't help overhearing. Perhaps if you told me the witnesses of this prophecy you're referring to, I could help you," he offered. Then he added compassionately, "Those labels must really be a bother."
Augustus looked confused for a moment, and then said quickly, "Ah, yes, they are. You see, eh, we can't recall the Seer that administered this one, and we must have their name, for labeling purposes. But . . . sir," he eyed Caradoc suspiciously, "this is confidential business you know. Department of Mysteries. Most confidential department in the whole Ministry."
"Oh . . . oh, I'm quite sorry. It's just-" he froze as he saw Augustus fumble with the silver-blue orb he was labeling. Both the witness and the Seer were already labeled. Beneath the initials read the names: "You-Know-Who and ."
Caradoc saw the Seer's name, though."You've already got the Seer. It's there, look," he pointed. "Say, is that the prophecy that-"
Augustus stuffed the prophecy in a drawer. "Firstly, this is confidential, sir! Secondly," his eyes narrowed, "how on earth do YOU know of this prophecy, if WE don't even- " he stopped short.
Caradoca was brimming with curiosity. His heart rate was picking up. He could have sworn that if Augustus had finished his sentence, it would have been about Death Eater ignorance of the prophecy.
Augustus turned away. Caradoc knew he needed to ask for a copy of the old proposal, but something deep within him was shrieking that foul play was at hand. "Why do you have the prophecy out here in your office if they're so valuable? Why don't you label it down in the bowels, where it will be safe? Surely you're not planning on removing it from the Ministry building, are you?"
Augustus stared at him. "You're with the Order of the Phoenix, aren't you?" Caradoc only froze, but that was enough. Augustus shrieked, "Expelliarmus!" and Caradoc's wand flew to his hand. He hexed the door shut and then rounded on Caradoc.
"I told you this was all confidential, do you here? Are you aware that you are flouting Ministry orders?" his voice mocked.
"You're flouting them yourself!" Caradoc retorted, voice breaking.
Augustus suddenly began to laugh, a low, tremulous laugh that grew in intensity until he was practically screaming with mirth. "Very well; perhaps I am. Naive, foolish boy . . . are you so idealistic to believe that the Ministry has suffered no Death Eater infiltration? Did you think that tbis," he held up the very paper that Caradoc had been assigned to seek out, "was your ticket to the ultimate defeat of all evil ever to enter the Ministry? Did you doubt that I, a Ministry member, could even be capable of such corruption? Well, allow me to disillusion you!"
"You can't kill me!" Caradoc shouted. "If you do, everyone will know it was you! They'll be on to you, they'll come and take you away!"
"Foolish again, boy. Do you honestly think I am going to leave your body here to be found?"
"No matter what you do . . . if you kill me, people will know. They'll know something's afoot. They'll trace it to Death Eaters! I'll die a martyr and people will be inspired to drive you out!"
Augustus sighed boredly. "Fine; I would not wish to deny you your hero's dreams in the last moment. Of COURSE they'll find you. They'll know it was me. They'll come and take me away, and they'll realize I almost stole the prophecy. They'll see the paper on my desk and arrest every Death Eater. That's exactly it. AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Caradoc fell to the floor as the green light disintegrated into the air around him. Augustus cooly shredded the paper of signatories. He tucked Caradoc's stolen wand neatly back into Caradoc's own belt. He flicked his own wand over the body, and it disappeared.
"And I think I just won't bother ever pulling that one back out of the air," he chortled to himself.
TBC . . . Getting close to the end . . . sniff . . . the momentum builds . . . the irony of this story is that we know everything that happens . . .