He did not knock. He did not even hesitate when he entered, awaiting her grudging approval as he had in the past. He crossed the room swiftly, and was in bed before Narcissa could react.
It had long ago ceased to be painful when he took her, but she winced now, his evident hurry outweighing his past desire to be gentle. It was not passion- no, she doubted he was capable of such a thing. It was simply as though he wished to get it over with as soon as possible- he wouldn't even look at her.
When it was over, he left as rapidly as he entered, and dispite her irritation and discomfort, she noticed an odd expression on his face, one that might have been shame in anyone else, but on Lucius Malfoy's emotionless countenance, she couldn't place it.
This pattern continued thrice weekly with the exception of her monthly bleeding, during which he was blissfully absent without being told a word. Narcissa began frequenting apothecaries, purchasing any potion that promised to assist her in conceiving.
Still, months passed without any sign of a baby. Narcissa became, if at all possible, even more bitter towards her husband, refusing to eat meals with him, waiting until she was certain he'd left for work before going down to breakfast, and eating supper before he returned home to avoid sitting with him. She instructed the elves during the daytime, and retired as soon as she heard his footsteps coming down the main hallway (somehow, she always missed the front door opening). She did not see him at all, except for nights. Still, this was far too often, and she tried to be in the shower whenever he came to visit, for occasionally this would cause him to leave her alone.
When Narcissa found out, at long last, that she was pregnant again, she could have wept for joy. And this time, she resolved, nothing would go wrong. She went to St. Mungo's immediately for potions to enhance the health of the unborn child, and had the elves cook only meals that would be good for the infant. For the first time in her life, she even began to exercise- something that had been previously unnecessary, as she'd always been tiny in physique. But she took steady jogs- which became brisk walks as the pregnancy progressed, and finally lumbering strolls- around the Manor grounds, appreciating for the first time how beautiful the gardens were. She thought, after the baby was born, she might plant some roses in the back, or have a fountain put in- maybe a hedged play area for her little one. The thought made her smile- a tiny blonde child toddling around, chasing butterflies and seeing shapes in the clouds.
During the sixth week, Narcissa went into the prenatal department of St. Mungo's for one of her many precautionary appointments, all smiles and laughter. Her doctor, however, frowned.
"Mrs. Malfoy..." she began, gazing intendly at an image magically depicting Narcissa's womb and infant. Her tone was uncertain and somewhat grave- Narcissa felt a bolt of fear.
"Yes?" she tried to reply in a strong voice, but it came out somewhat choked.
"There seems to be something we haven't detected before- likely caused by your fall and previous miscarriage- but it's hard to say for sure. I should do more tests."
That evening, Narcissa lay perfectly still on her bed, attempting in vain to fend off panic. Her hands protectively cradled her still-flat midsection, and she stared determindly at the ceiling far above. An elf appeared nervously near the door.
"Does mistress need anything?"
"No."
"Is mistress alright?"
"Fine. Go away."
It vanished promptly, and less than a minute later, there was a gentle knocking.
"Yes?" she called, irritated. Her nerves were already streched taut- she wasn't sure she could deal with her husband at the moment. Lucius took several steps into the room and then paused, evidently uncertain. Narcissa resisted the childish urge to roll over and face the opposite wall, instead staring with detached impatience until he spoke.
"You went to St. Mungo's today?"
"I did," she confirmed, but offered no more.
"And?"
"I'm fine, Lucius," she snapped, hating the bitter taste of his name in her mouth, "but I'm tired-"
"And lying. What did they say?" he demanded, tone bordering on imperious. "I'm not imagining this, the elf said-"
"You sent and elf," she cried, "to spy on me?" Because she had no interest in sitting upright, she mere gave him a glare that conveyed all the loathing she could muster.
"Well, if you won't speak to anyone or anything about it, I could just owl the hospital and have a copy of your records sent here. However, I had hoped you would be more agreeable about it."
"It's your damned sister's fault, Lucius! The fall somehow messed up my womb- they think if I'm careful and do everything right, I might carry the baby full term, but they recommended that I didn't, because there's a sixty percent chance that I'll die in delivery! They said I should never have tried to get pregnant again, and that their initial assesment was wrong, and the only reason I concieved anyway was all the fertility potions I was taking, and that it was a mistake! That I'm more likely then not to die because of this! They offered to abort the embryo then and there, but I told them no! And do you know why? Because I'd rather die having this baby than spend the rest of my life alone here with you!"
His face was set in his usual mask, but his eyes were uncharacteristically stricken. "Narcissa," he began, all hint of his stern tone gone.
"Just get out, won't you?"
The next morning, when Narcissa crept downstairs for breakfast, she was quite alarmed to find Lucius sitting at the table, the Daily Prophet spread out beside his apparently untouched plate.
"Shouldn't you be working?" she demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took her seat.
"It can wait. Since you've begun dining later, I suppose I can adjust my schedule in order to accompany you."
"You really don't have to," she snapped. He didn't reply; instead, he lifted an apple and leaned back in his chair, watching her with unvieled curiousity as he took a bite. She shifted uncomfortably. "What is it?" Narcissa demanded, lifting her fork tentatively to spear a piece of the assorted fruit before her.
"Nothing." He took another chunk of apple out, chewing thoughtfully.
"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" she reiterated.
"Not until I choose to go," he responded quietly.
When she was done, he stood and left silently. Narcissa didn't understand his odd behaviour, but nearly groaned aloud when she went into the dining room once more for lunch, only to finding him waiting peacefully.
"I thought you were at work!"
"I do have a lunch hour," he explained patiently. "And I've used up," here he checked his watch, "approximately seven minutes of that. Please, sit."
With undisguised anger, she obeyed, stabbing at her food with all the petulance of a child.
"Are you... feeling alright?" he asked carefully. She nodded stiffly, and they passed the rest of meal in silence.
He was there at supper and she was no less irritated, but remained quiet. She hoped he would get tired of it, but he didn't- he appeared at every meal, every day, without fail. As she had everything else, Narcissa learned to endure it, although offered no feigned enthusiasm.
She still went on her walks, but with utmost care- a simple misstep could be fatal for her growing baby. Her every movement was calculated, and by the end of the day, she was so exausted and tense that she simply collapsed into bed.
Still, her stomach grew, expanding little by little. Towards the end of her fifth month, it became impossible to cram into even her loosest garments, and Narcissa headed to Diagon Alley for a bit of overdue shopping.
She loved the freedom- the carefree wandering and window shopping, and just the tiniest thrill of knowing she could easily purchase anything she desired. It was wonderful to see people, and hear bright, chattering voices- laughter. It was almost a foreign sound now, and the thought scared her a bit. The only thing she wished was that she wasn't totally alone; an assisting house elf was hardly good company.
"Narcissa? Is that really you?"
She whirled around, and for a moment, didn't recognise him. Then, Rebastan's bright, boyish grin lit up his face, and she gave a delighted cry of surprise.
"'Bastan! Oh, look at you!" she cried, throwing her arms around him then drawing away to do exactly that. He'd lost weight, but not in an unhealty way- in fact, he seemed to be glowing. He'd always been rather pudgy and pale, but was now not only thinner, but leanly muscled and looking as if he'd spent time in the sun. His inherently handsome facial structure was now noticable as well- the clear, strong jaw and high cheekbones. His dark eyes shone, and his pure, Lestrange blood was more evident than it had ever been during their years of schooling.
"How are you, Cissy?" he asked warmly, looking over her as well. "Merlin, Narcissa, you're not-?"
"Pregnant? Yes," she confirmed, and he laughed, placing a gentle hand over her belly.
"Amazing. So you're well, then?" She permitted the assumtion, and he continued. "Who would have thought it? I've bought my own place in Hertford- of course, Roddy's inherited all the ancestral grounds, but I've got a fair share of funds as well. And I-" he paused, face flushing with pride, voice lowering to whisper, "I've started seeing someone. She- she's just wonderful. Beautiful and smart, too. I can hardly believe it. I mean, would you ever have guessed it?"
"I always told you that you deserved the very best, didn't I?" And she had, every single time he'd been turned down by some girl or another. Not once in all their years at Hogwarts had he been able to persuade a girl to accompany him to Hogsmeade, and while he'd never begrudged his two best friends their bliss, they had both known how lonely he occasionally was. The three of them had done almost everything together, but there were undoubtedly times when Rebastan had been excluded.
"Tell me all about her," Narcissa began, taking his arm and leading them over to a bench. "Do I know her?"
"I don't think so; her name is Lysandra, and she went to Beauxbatons. But her family isn't French. I- I know I haven't known her for terribly long, but Narcissa, I truely believe that I'm going to marry her."
"That's wonderful! I would love to meet her sometime," she told him earnestly.
"You certainly will. So are things going better with Malfoy then?"
Her first impulse was to lie. To chirp 'Oh yes, most fabulously!' However, she'd known Rebastan far too long for such meager trickery to be effective. And besides, she'd already paused for too much time.
"It's not great, to be honest. But I'm learning to deal with it- living for days like this when I can get out of the house. And the baby-" she stopped. She wouldn't tell him about the risks of her pregnancy, not now when he was so happy. She couldn't ruin that, or even taint it. "The baby is a joy, too, even if I'm not fond of it's father." Narcissa took a deep, steadying breath, and asked in a too-casual voice, "And what of Rodtimer? Have you seen him lately?"
Immediately, Rebastan grimaced, and she felt a clench of dread in her gut. "What?" she demanded, "What is it?"
"He's not... well, Narcissa. Still. He hasn't begun to recover- hasn't even tried, really. He hasn't moved out of his parent's home, and he... he drinks, quite often. I don't see him anymore, for the most part. He can't get over the past, not even to the point of functioning."
Narcissa bit her lip and averted her gaze, blinking hard. "Look at us," she whispered, "Who would have thought it?"
That night, Narcissa dreamt.
The dream was surprisingly realistic- she was pregnant and lying in bed, just as in reality. But she was happy. Joyful, in fact, because Rodtimer was beside her, smiling in his warm, reassuring way, and stroking her swollen midsection. He loved her, and loved their child. Their child. A little boy, with dark blue eyes and thick black hair, who had been concieved with love into a pregnancy that was free of danger.
His hand on her was so solid, so present, she raised her own hand to place over his, lacing their fingers as she guided him to where the child was kicking gently, in happy response and acknowledgement of his father. Mort squeezed her hand tenderly, and she turned her face upwards to gaze at him.
And then, somehow, the sequence ended, because suddenly she was back in the Malfoy Manor, and the glow was gone. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Narcissa realised that the touch upon her abdomen was still very much in existence, but it was not Rodtimer Yaxley she clung to.
"You!" she hissed in disgust, jerking her hand out of Lucius's and shoving his arm away. "What are you doing in here? Won't you just leave me alone?"
"I-" he began, but seemed to decide better. He rose swiftly, and strode from the room. Shuddering, Narcissa rolled over and fell back asleep.