A Malfoys MistakeBy Jinni
Mother Dearest
The past two weeks have been as close to heaven as I'm likely to get, considering all the sins committed in my childhood. My wife is currently sitting next to me, in the Leaky Cauldron, sipping delicately at her first ever butterbeer, oblivious to the stares we're getting from the rest of the patrons. Since when does Draco Malfoy come into the Leaky Cauldron, they're thinking? And why is that red haired beauty with him? He must have her under the Imperious.
As if I need to use one of the Unforgivables to get a woman.
But they don't care about that. Nor do they deign to just go back to their own business and leave me to mine. It's been this way for as long as I can remember, though before father's death it was worse. Now I'm not greeted with such open hostility, though still with fear and prejudice.
Willow is clueless to it. She doesn't notice the way the witches in the shops scamper to heed my every word. She doesn't see the scared glances I get everywhere we go. The shopwitches don't dare ask for her name, fearing her to be one of my 'flavors of the week' - because if they did they would know that Willow, too, is a Malfoy, and not to be trifled with.
Interestingly enough, her own infamy does not garner her any type of reaction. Even though she is That Witch. The one that tried to end the world and was stopped by her Muggle friend. Her picture was never shown in the paper, and that gives her some anonymity. She doesn't have to deal with her actions on a public level, though I know bloody well that she's dealt with them on an emotional one.
Anyway -
My wife, Willow. Is sitting here sipping her butterbeer, looking around her with open curiosity. I let her savor it, enjoy it, because very shortly we'll be on the way Home.
Malfoy Manor, that is.
This will be the first time she's ever set foot in her new home, seeing as how I did a very cowardly thing two weeks ago.
I owled mother.
Yes, you heard right.
Instead of just going to see her face to face and telling her about what had happened - I Draco Soddin' Malfoy owled her.
And then promptly went into hiding with Willow.
If I've figured right, Mother should be calmed down enough to not kill me, or Willow, on sight the moment we walk through the doors.
I hope.
~*~*~
"Do you think she'll like me?"
Now there's a loaded question if I ever heard one. Do I think my mother, Narcissa Malfoy, is going to like my new wife?
I snort.
"No."
The smack on my arm is nothing close to tender and is all about causing pain. "OW! Bloody hell, woman!"
"Why won't your mother like me?" She asks, fire in her eyes. She has crossed her arms and stopped in the middle of Diagon Alley. Thankfully it's still early and mid-week, the roadway is anything but busy.
"Lots of reason," I keep going with the honesty. Really, what's the point in sugar-coating it now? She'll be meeting mother in just a few minutes - less, even, if I can get her walking again to where I had planned to apparate from.
"Like --?" She growls.
"Like - you're from a Muggle family, you were never trained properly. You don't come from an old, rich wizarding family."
She frowned at me then, her glare like ice. "And all of this matters to her?"
I hesitate before nodding, averting my eyes. At one point it mattered to me, too. On some levels, maybe it still did. But I was married to Willow and that was that. There was no getting around it, no divorce to be had. Til death do us part meant that, unless some freak accident killed one of us, we were stuck like this for a very long time. She was a good woman, though. Passionate, beautiful, intelligent - a suitable wife on all of those fronts. And, she was a pleasure to be around, though I might would never admit it in general public. We even have the same wicked sense of humor.
So - I like her, in case it was unclear.
But that doesn't mean that mother will.
"Fine." She says at last, walking slowly towards me.
I didn't know what to tell her, what to say to assure her that this wouldn't be 'that bad', knowing fully well that it could be 'that bad'. So I kissed her. She likes snogging - or smoochies as she calls it. They never fail to make her smile, bring that childish innocence back to her eyes.
Well . . . except when they bring something else to her eyes. Something of a decidedly 'bedroom' nature, if you get my meaning.
"It'll be okay, you know."
"Of course," she smiles into my lips, her breath blowing hot over my mouth with each word. "My own mother hates me, Draco, why would yours be any different?"
I've come from a family like that. My father hated me. I was just an instrument, a pawn - a trophy of his prowess in the not-so-subtle art of procreation. He hated me and mother was forced to go along with the ride until he died.
We've gotten much closer since then. But that's not saying there's any hope for her and Willow. Mother comes from a very, very old wizarding family. These prejudices are ingrained in her.
I expect nothing more than complete, cold civility. And, if I get that, I will feel lucky.
"You ready?"
"As I'll ever be." She answered with a shrug, wrapping her arms around my waist, her face buried in my chest. She hated this part. With her eyes scrunched tight and mine wide open, we apparated to the edge of my family's lands.
She stumbled a bit, clutching my arm tightly until her nausea passed. I don't know why she gets like that. It just started this week, the dizziness and nausea every time we apparate anywhere. Some people just get sick from it, I guess.
"Alright, then?" I venture after a moment.
"Yeah."
I guide her through the front gate and up the walk, past fountains, statues and garden sculptures. A quick glance over reveals that, yes, she is suitably impressed by the grounds. Something akin to pride blasts warm in my stomach; pride that I had this and that I can offer it to her.
She stops before we reach the door, hand to her stomach. Her face looks positively green.
"I don't think that butterbeer-thing agreed with me."
I've never heard of someone getting sick over drinking one butterbeer. She didn't even finish it off, from what I remember. But there she is, swaying on her feet and sick. Maybe mother will take pity on a sick wife over a well wife, anyway.
"Let's get inside. I'll call for a Mediwitch."
Before I can even raise my wand to unlock the door it is thrown open and Bubbly, our house elf, is standing there, eyes wide. "The Mistress says to bring her to the sitting room. She has called for Mediwitch Wells."
Mother was watching us from the windows, then. Unsurprising, really. Though the thoughtfulness in summoning for the Mediwitch without me prompting her is unusual.
The house is silent as I lead Willow inside. Her face is pale, drawn; and despite myself I think I'm a little worried. If she got sick off of that foul swill they sell in the Leaky Cauldron I swear that raggedy looking Tom person will meet an untimely end. I may not hang around Dark circles anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't have any contacts.
The sitting room doors are open when we reach the end of the hall, and mother is standing in the open space, her face quizzical.
"Why did you apparate in her condition, Draco?"
I honestly have no idea what my mother could mean by that, and I think she can tell because she raises a hand to her mouth, looks from Willow to me, and then shakes her head and sighs -
"Children."
"My condition?" Willow asks as I lead her to one of the couches.
"I would rather not say until the Mediwitch gets here." Mother's eyes are sparkling, though. With amusement.
"What's going on, mum?"
"Nothing - really." I don't think I've ever seen her smile, aside from the day she found out my father was well and truly gone - but right now comes close. Something has her inordinately pleased with either herself or this situation.
"Are you going to introduce us?"
That's the end of my questioning, it appears, because mother would now like to start her own. Dread is one word for what I'm feeling, though. Mother seems happy and Willow is sick. This could mean many things, but the one that is jumping to the front of my mind right now is that Willow is dying. That would make mother extraordinarily happy, I am sure. Perhaps she even had my godfather give her a little something and paid someone to slip it into Willow's food or drink at some point. The possibilities are endless and none of them, from where I am sitting, seem good.
"Mother - this is Willow, my wife. Willow, my mother - Narcissa Malfoy."
"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy." Willow smiles weakly, tilting her head in greeting.
"Please - call me Narcissa. We are family now, remember?"
How could any of us forget, I wanted to ask, though thankfully keeping it in. The Mediwitch was shown in by a house elf at that point, and the questioning was ended before it could even really begin.
"Mandy - come here, please?" Mother orders the Mediwitch. They converse in whispered tones for a half a minute before a smile lights up the other woman's face. "Go on," my mother prompts her, "Do the test."
"Right away, madam." The Mediwitch holds her wand up in front of Willow and murmurs something that I don't hear, but Willow does. My wife's eyes get wide and wondrous as the tip of the wand begins to glow a bright pink.
"You mean -?" Willow questions, her expression bemused.
"Exactly." The Mediwitch confirms whatever Willow was trying to ask, and my mother claps once, laughing joyously.
Personally, I feel like I've fallen into some sort of alternate universe where everyone knows some sort of big secret except me.
"Does anyone mind clueing me in on what is wrong with my wife?"
My mother tosses me a glare, probably for my grown just then, and the Mediwitch simply gives me a look. It is Willow, in the end, who ends up saying the fateful words.
"I'm pregnant, Draco."
And mother is right after her, happiness in her voice for the first time since I can remember.
"Congratulations, Draco. The Malfoy family once again will have an heir."
Oh dear Merlin.
I'm going to be a father?