For most of the first month, Narcissa didn't leave bed often. It wasn't that she didn't want to- in fact, she longed to stretch her legs, stand by the window, walk across the warm grounds. She held him whenever possible, insisting on nursing him herself despite her weakened state. She wished she had more strength and energy- whenever she fell asleep with her baby in her arms, he was always gone when she awoke. She didn't trust a house elf with her boy, and so did not ask him to be brought by any of the creatures that delivered meals. When he was carried into her room, it was by Lucius.
It had surprised her a bit that first time he'd come in. He had shouldered open the door, not knocking solely because he had not wanted to take a hand away from the infant. He cradled his son awkwardly, as though fearful that such a tiny body would slip through his much larger arms. Draco was crying softly, not in the loud, urgent way of most hungry infants.
"I think... I think he's hungry. He must be hungry. If you're too tired, there are, of course, other options, but I thought I might ask you first."
"My baby," she sighed lifting a weak hand. "Bring him here."
Lucius obeyed, moving quickly to hand her Draco and gathing pillows to prop him comfortably in her arms.
"And open the wondow too on your way out, won't you? I love June." Narcissa yawned and winced, each tiny shift still stinging and sore. Once he was gone, she called out for her elf. "Mipsie, I need my potions."
By late July, Narcissa was taking shuffling strolls again, frequently pausing to sit where ever convenient. However, after the first few, she couldn't shake the odd sense of loneliness, until it occured to her what she was missing- her baby. After all, she'd never walked alone before, just without a tangible companion. Unfortunately, she was still too weak to tote around even her tiny newborn, leaving her in an uncomfortable predicament.
Narcissa hovered outside her husband's study for nearly a full minute before knocking tentatively. After a beat, the door swung open. Lucius looked taken aback to see her there, but not displeased.
"Is everything alright? Draco is still asleep, is he not?"
"Oh yes," she waved his concern aside. "I was thinking though, perhaps we could hire a nanny."
Lucius frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. "And why would we need to do that?"
"Well, I'm often quite tired and it's rather difficult to care for him as I would like to for the time being."
His frown deepened. "Am I not caring for him in a satisfactory manner when you are incapable of doing so?"
"Well, I suppose, but you must have important work and such and I-"
"Narcissa," he interrupted, "nothing, nothing, is more important to me than our son."
"It would still be nice to have someone to, I don't know, carry him with me when I go for walks, or bring me my potions- house elves are useful, but human interaction is nice too."
With a heavy sigh, Lucius shut his eyes and dipped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Narcissa," I exist. "I truly believe that I would be able to do that."
"Er," Narcissa frowned, ignoring his slightly pained look at her hesitation. "Perhaps I could owl my mother and ask her to visit?"
"Oh, such a beautiful grandson I have! Yes, I do," Druella crooned in an uncharacteristically warm manner, pressing her lips to the baby's cheek. He offered her a toothless grin, fisting his hands around the Majorcan pearls she wore about her neck. "Good taste, too," she continued, smiling tenderly. "And how are you feeling, Cissy?"
Narcissa sighed and turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed. It was a beautiful early August day, and she was enjoying her mother's company as they toured the gardens of the Malfoy Manor. At the moment, they sat on a wide, elaborately carved marble bench, and a fountain splashed softly nearby.
"How am I ever?" she replied. "I love my baby; Draco is undoubtedly the light of my life, and I suppose he always will be. I've accepted that every other aspect of it will always be nothing but misery."
Druella cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I see," she muttered, and then said loudly, "Er, hello, Lucius!"
Narcissa's eyes popped open as her husband strode forward across the lawn. He nodded repectfully at the slightly embarassed Mrs. Black, and showed no indication of having heard her daughter's comment.
"How are you, Druella?" he asked quietly as he took a seat beside his mother-in-law.
"I'm well, thank you- just admiring this wonderful little boy here!"
Immediately, his hard mask vanished as he warmed to the subject of his son. "Draco is quite brilliant- he's already rolling over, and holds his head up very well."
"Really?" Druella laughed, surprised by his enthusiasm. "I see he has your eyes too; I suppose he'll be just like his father?"
"Perhaps," Narcissa cut in coldly, obviously not fond of the idea, and disliking the fact that her little one's blue eyes, like her own, had faded to grey. "I think he's looking a bit drowsy though; Lucius, would take him inside?"
"Of course," he demured, taking Draco as he rose. However, he seemed to move oddly as he returned back across the lawn. Without thinking, Narcissa called out, "Lucius, are you limping?"
He froze, turning back, eyes flashing dangerously. "I beg you pardon?" he hissed, causing Narcissa to draw back in alarm.
"Well, I mean," she backtracked rapidly, "You aren't... injured?"
"No," he snarled darkly, and headed back towards the Manor with stiff, deliberate steps. Druella stood abruptly.
"Narcissa, dear, I think I'd best go." She leaned forward to give her youngest daughter a peck on the cheek, ignoring her protests, and disapparated with a pop. Shaken, Narcissa looked uncertainly up towards the sprawling chateau of a house. She was almost positive that Lucius had, in fact, been limping, but that wasn't what worried her- she never seen him respond so violently. A fiery side of his monotonous personality had never been exposed to her before- how much more was he hiding?
That night, Narcissa woke up to the sound of Draco crying. It had happened before, but this time, it did not stop- usually, his tears were soothed almost instantly by his father, and if it was nourishment that he needed, Lucius brough him in to feed. Otherwise, Narcissa slept through the night as she continued to regain her strength.
Tonight, however, the insistent wails did not cease. She rose and padded down the hall to the nursery.
"Hush, baby boy, mama's here," she crooned through a yawn, staggering back into a chair. "Yes, you're alright," she murmured, head lolling back onto the head rest. "It's alright."
She was reawakened by a muffled crack. Her eyes opened groggily, and she realized Draco was still curled on her chest, fast asleep. After placing him back in his crib, she poked her head into the corridor. A light was shining from Lucius's bedroom, and she tiptoed forward. She's never been in his room before- but why was he apparating so late at night?
"Lucius?" she knocked softly, but there was no response from within. "Lucius?" she repeated, pushing the door open carefully. "Is every thing alright?"
"Fuck! Narcissa, get out of here!" His voice was rough and furious, and she jumped at the sound of it. She was very nearly frightened into obeying- until she saw the blood.
At first, she only noticed the dull, wet glimmer splattered carelessly across the lush carpet in the dim lighting- but as her eyes traveled around the large, unfamiliar room, she realized heavy streaks of crimson scarred the silk sheets of Lucius's bed. Lucius; the source of the mess. He was sprawled awkwardly across his mattress, wearing nothing but dark shorts, and his gory wounds were thrown into stark contrast against icy white flesh. He clutched his wand in one hand, but whatever charms he was attempting to use to stem the flow of blood were failing. His breaths were quick, random, and shallow, and the skin that was not painted by blood was glazed in a fine sheen of sweat. A deep gash on his legs was poorly bandaged and seeping, although she guessed from the darkened crust that it was at least a day or two old. However, Narcissa couldn't guess the size of the injury across his chest- his entire abdomen was a sickeningly bright, slick red, red that ran in rivulets from his sides and pooled on the blanket beneath him. And, perhaps most gruesome of all, a twisted black brand apparent of his left forearm. She'd seen that symbol before- plastered on the from page of the Daily Prophet, with lists of murdered victims below. She knew what it was, and what it meant.
"Go," he commanded again. This time, she heard the raw desperation behind it, the muted agony- how could she have missed it before?
It would be so easy. To just back quietly from the room, close the door and return to her own bed. In the morning, at a decent hour, she could floo the Ministry- convincingly hysterical, of course. He would bleed out soon enough, and no one would miss Lucius Malfoy once it became known he was a Death Eater. She could weave any convining tale she liked- who would think poorly of the duped wife of a killer? Or perhaps she could say she did know, but she could say that he made sport of hurting her, and she feared for her life and the life of her child if she went public with her knowledge. Immediately, her mind began to embellish the tale. How had she married him? Under duress, of course. She loved her family, how could she not do anything to appease the monster threatening them, even if it meant sacrificing herself? The child? Well, he'd raped her, obviously, but she loved her little boy none the less; he wasn't his father. She'd be admired for her bravery. And what do you plan to do now that you're free, Miss Black? Well, firstly-
A low groan slipped through Lucius's gritted teeth, jarring her back to reality and shattering her fantasy.
If I leave him, will that make me a murderer too? Carefully, she crept into the vast chamber. She'd never set foot inside this room before, and wasn't particularly pleased to be doing so now.
"We... we should get you cleaned up, I reckon," she suggested in a too-casual voice. But who was she kidding? I don't know a think about injuries or healing them! "And then we'll get you to St. Mungo's-"
"No! No, you can't," he panted. "Just... a towel... or something... and water."
"Right. Mipsie," she called, "towels. And a bowl. Two bowls, one with water." The creature obeyed, and Narcissa began to wipe his chest delicately with trembling fingers, wringing pink water into the empty dish periodically. It soon became evident that a deep gash ran from his right shoulder to just a above his navel.
"Diluted... Bundimun... draught," he gasped. "And Dittany. In... there." He gestured towards an open door on the opposite wall, and Narcissa hurried into the bathroom. It was abnormally tidy- like a posh resort's restroom. Luxurious, to be sure- a large jacuzzi tub before a panoramic window that looked as though it had never been used, a shower with glass doors, white, neatly folded towels, a single tooth brush as the most personal touch- but uncomfortably sterile. She flung open the cabinet to find the two vials he described at the front (each was neatly labeled and organized) and seemed to be recently used. Grabbing them quickly, she darted back to Lucius's side.
"I've got them," she announced, awaiting further instruction.
"Bundimun's... to clean. Dittany... helps. A bit."
"Right," she muttered, pouring the first liberally into the open wound. He gasped, eyes flying open as he choked,
"Not so much!"
Upon further inspection, Narcissa noticed a faint stream of steam seemed to be rising as tiny bubbles appeared in his blood; the over-use was not merely destroying infection: it was literally boiling inside of him.
"Ughn..." he moaned, hands fisting in the drenched sheets around him. Lucius hissed a string of obscenities and twisted ineffectually against the burning that now occompanied his already life-threatening injury.
"I'm sorry," Narcissa whispered, biting her lip uncertainly.
"You didn't... know," he grunted in grudging forgiveness. After a moment, he reminded her, "My leg, too."
Carefully, she unwrapped the other lacertation, and dabbed a bit of the Bundimun into it.
"Good," he encouraged. "Dittany now."
It did seem to help some- the bleeding all but ceased on his upper body, and, after the application on his thigh, the other cut was nearly gone. At last, Lucius gave a heavy sigh of relief.
"I need bandages now," he murmured, the smooth muscles of his brow indicating that most of his discomfort was gone.
"Mipsie," Narcissa called. When she was brought the linen strips, neatly rolled, she eased his leg across he lap.
"Narcissa,"
She glanced up at the sound of her name. He was staring at her curiously as she wrapped his leg carefully. "Yes? Am I doing it wrong?"
"No, not at all." He frowned, watching her motions for a moment. "Are you not frightened?"
Well, she hadn't been, not when she'd been doing such a good job of ignoring the obvious matter at hand.
In fact- she rather believed that, in some circumstances, ignorance was bliss. "Frightened of what?" she replied innocently.
"I know you are not dense," he snapped, irritated by her feigned oblivion.
"It's better if I don't know, isn't it?" she returned harshly, yanking the wrappings a bit too tight, but relenting when she saw him wince. "I mean, what can I think?"
"Are you going to go the the Ministry? Turn me in?" he demanded bluntly.
"If I planned to do that, wouldn't it have been easier to let you die? I'll look like an accomplice now." Damn. That hadn't actually occured to her until she said it out loud.
"But..." his brow furrowed as she finished with his leg and moved to his upper body. "Why?"
"You were... bleeding. A lot."
"You could have let me die," he said softly, eyes still tracing her every movement. Narcissa frowned and shook her head.
"I'd already seen the blood. I couldn't live with the guilt of knowing I'd done nothing to stop a death that wasn't inevitable." Even yours.
Lucius allowed his eyes to slide shut, and captured her petite hand in him much larger one. "Lie to me," he whispered roughly, drawing her stained fingers to his cheek.
"I- I'm sorry?" She was too surprised to pull away as he leaned into the involuntary touch.
"Tell me it's because you didn't want me to die. Please; lie to me."