The Not So Good Girl

I

She was washing dishes at the sink; or, rather, she was flicking her wand lazily while they washed themselves. One of the plates began to fall because she had been staring blankly out the window. Her stomach, however, was a burden she was still unaccustomed to, and she bumped into kitchen sink as she stepped forward to save it; it broke.

Swearing loudly, she repaired the plate so that it was once again seamless. Draco looked into the kitchen from the family room.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s my stomach. I’m not used to this.”

He laughed and returned to his chair by the fire, where he was reading a letter from his father. They’d been married for two months, and she was now four months pregnant, with a small baby bump that she’d been trying to conceal, especially at work. None of her colleagues knew she was pregnant yet, and she preferred it that way. She was worried they’d treat her differently—more gently than professionally.

Both sets of parents knew, however, and only one was happy—the Malfoys. Virginie’s parents told her that though they were happy to welcome a grandchild, they would have preferred that she enjoyed a few years with Draco before having their first child. She’d explained to her mother in the privacy of her own bedroom how it had been a mistake.

“I cannot believe I was so stupid, Mother, I cannot,” she sobbed, her French accent emerging once more. “I did not want this to happen.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” her mother said sagely.

She had tried to live by this for the past two months. It was trying, however, when Narcissa was constantly sending her owls at work, and they were always some dumb little reminder about what she’d done when Draco was a child, and whether Virginie liked this certain fabric for the baby’s bedroom. It was always the same, as well—never fit for a little girl. It was always, always for a boy. Virginie was inwardly hoping for a girl. That would show them.

“Darling,” Draco beckoned from the family room, breaking her thoughts. She wandered near the fire. “That man I told you about—Wheelock—should be here any moment. It shouldn’t take long. Just a favour I’m doing for my father. We’ll be in the parlor.” He muttered something under his breath and she gasped.

“Did you just say what I think you said?” she admonished.

“Sorry,” he apologized. She’d heard him loud and clear: he’d muttered “The filthy Mudblood.”

“One of your best friends is Muggle-born,” she snapped.

“Hermione’s different,” he persisted. “She—”

He was cut off by the bell ringing, and he rose to answer the door. She followed so that she could be introduced. Wheelock was very dirty looking, and Virginie cringed when she thought of him sitting on her lovely new furniture. He did seem rather kind, sure, but seedy all the same. Once she’d been introduced, she excused herself up to her bedroom, where she changed into comfortable stretchy pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

As she brushed her teeth for the fifth time that day (for some reason, she couldn’t get enough of the taste of her toothpaste since she’d been pregnant), she began hearing scuffling downstairs. At first she thought perhaps they were having a friendly argument, but it was when she heard something that sounded remarkably like the shattering of her grandmother’s five hundred year-old vase that she realized something was wrong.

She flew down the stairs and flung open one of the doors, turning to the side and narrowly escaping a hit from a flash of yellow light. The men had not seemed to notice her yet, being absorbed in their argument.

“You took it, you filthy Mudblood,” Draco snarled, his wand raised menacingly.

“No, sir,” Wheelock pleaded. “I gave it to Greenman.”

“Greenman?” Draco snickered, advancing toward him. “No one’s seen Greenman for three months and you’ve had it for just one. We’ll see if you’re saying that after this. Crucio!”

The man sank to his knees, writhing in agony. Draco’s face was twisted and sadistic as he held his wand to the man’s head. Virginie gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Draco looked over, noticed her, and immediately dropped his wand. The man collapsed onto their floor, breathing hard.

She pleaded with him with her eyes, wondering how he could do such a thing. Words came to her, but she found herself unable to speak. Dumbly, she just stood there, her mouth wide. Then, without a backward glance or any regard for what was happening, she turned and stormed upstairs to their bedroom, where she threw herself into bed, turning toward the window. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks and dampened her pillow.

What upset her most was that Draco didn’t come straight up to check on her. It was over an hour before she heard him shut the front door and walk around downstairs, probably checking to see that all the fires and lamps were extinguished before coming upstairs. He entered their bedroom gingerly and didn’t light any lamps as he undressed and crawled into bed.

“Virginie,” he said calmly from his side of the bed.

She didn’t answer.

“There are some things I have to do,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she snapped.

“You once told me you’d love me for who I am, for what I do. Have you changed your mind already, after just two short months of marriage?” he said, and she could hear the mocking in his voice. Her anger rose.

“This has nothing to do with my love for you,” she snapped, still facing away from him on the bed. “This has to do with your character as a person.”

“It was just some Mudblood,” he snapped.

She turned toward him, with some difficulty due to her extra weight (Draco noticed and automatically reached to help her, but she wouldn’t let him touch her), and spat, “I don’t give a fuck about that man. I’m talking about our child. Our unborn child. What in the world are you planning to teach him or her when he or she is born? You’re going to teach the child to hate Muggle-borns, when one of your best friends is one? That’s won’t confuse the child at all!”

“Oh come off it, I’m letting our child nowhere near any of this. I did that for my father as a favor. I would never allow our child to witness something like that.”

“Oh but you’ll keep doing it, will you?” she snapped, turning back over so she was away from him; truthfully, she didn’t want him to see the tears that had welled in her eyes once more.

“I have to,” he said quietly. “As long as my father is alive, I have to.”

She said nothing, because she knew it was true. They were indebted to Lucius and Narcissa for the house, and if they were to break free of them they’d have nothing, and both of them knew it.

Draco rolled over and put his hand on her arm, but she swatted it away. “Don’t you touch me,” she screamed, her tears coming faster than ever now.

He didn’t say anything, as she’d expected, but instead lay back on his pillow, looking at the ceiling. “I had to do it,” he whispered quietly, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Oh, but you’re not sorry you did it!” she exclaimed, sitting up in bed and glaring at him.

“I had to do it,” he repeated, looking at her. He saw the tears glistening on her cheeks. “Darling, don’t cry,” he begged.

“I just….to walk in….my own husband….Unforgivable curse….fuck…”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Draco….you could lose your job,” was the only thing she could find it in herself to say.

“Least of my worries,” he grumbled. He folded his arms behind his head, still looking at the ceiling.

She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

“Draco,” she said again, softly.

He looked over at her, his hands still folded behind his head.

“I love you, no matter what you do,” she said.

“I know.”

“Please…I’m begging you…never…never…do or say anything like what you did tonight in front of our children.”

He propped himself on his right elbow to look over at her, leaning against the headboard, her hands on her small belly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said seriously, looking deep into her eyes. “You and this baby…you’re my world. I never want to hurt you. I know how much I did tonight.”

Tears caught in her throat, so she just nodded. He pulled her down to him and she sobbed into his shoulder as he stroked her hair and kept saying “I’m sorry” over and over again. Desperately she clung to him, until she finally fell asleep.

II

“Turn and lay on your left side,” the Healer instructed.

She obeyed. It was March, and she was at the end of her pregnancy. Flowers were beginning to bloom and it was becoming warm once more. This was her last check-up before delivery, and the Healer was making sure everything was going smoothly.

“Everything fine, then?” Draco asked concernedly as the Healer placed his wand back in his pocket and sat in his large, squashy armchair to scribble some notes with his quill.

“Everything is looking great. We’re right on schedule, kids,” the Healer grinned. “In two weeks’ time or less, you’ll have yourselves a baby.”

Draco smiled and looked at Virginie, but she had burst into tears.

“She’s been very emotional lately,” he apologized, handing Virginie a handkerchief.

“No need to apologize to me, sonny boy,” the Healer said, taking out a quill and writing notes onto a parchment chart. “See it all the time. I advise a healthy dose of comfort food and lack of any mothers-in-law.”

Draco laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ve got that under control.”

“Oh, and…it’s safe to continue with sexual activity again,” he added. “In fact, it could induce labour.” The Healer smiled and shook Draco’s hand. “Well, I’ll see you two kids soon,” he promised, patting Virginie reassuringly on the shoulder as he left.

“Darling, your robes,” he said, picking them up and carrying them to her.

She had stopped crying and gave him a hard kiss on the lips, wrapping her legs around him from where she sat on the examination table. Draco ran his fingers through her hair as he kissed her and groaned. They hadn’t been allowed to be intimate for the past month due to the risk from the pregnancy—there had been a risk of early labour.

“We can’t have sex in the Healer’s examination room,” Draco said, though she noticed he had unbuckled his pants, and he made no move to stop kissing her fiercely.

“Oh come off it, they’ve seen everything,” she said, ripping off her exam gown, turning over and bending over the examination table.

He placed his hands on her hips, and she could feel him start to push into her. “You know,” he groaned. “From back here I can’t even tell you’re pregnant.”

“That’s nice, now stop teasing me!”

He pushed himself the rest of the way inside her, and she gave a low moan of pleasure. He was so big and rock-hard. She supported herself by her elbows on the exam table as he drilled into her over and over, making her bite her lip to prevent herself from crying out.

“Oh fuck yes,” he groaned, coming deep inside her. “Oh God that was amazing.”

“Let’s have sex in the Healer’s office more often,” Virginie said, kissing him while she put on her robes.

“We’ll do it every time we come for visits,” he agreed, opening the door for her.

III

She was leaning on the side of the hospital bed, against Draco’s chest. The Healer was poking her gently with his wand, and she could feel her pain subsiding. This was it—they were going to have a baby. She’d been in labour for sixteen agonizing hours, and just now she was seven centimetres, the magic point: the Healer could numb her spine.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked gently, rubbing her shoulders.

She groaned in response. The numbness was sinking in, thankfully. The de Gaulles, Malfoys, and Ron and Hermione were waiting outside. When she’d been situated, she asked Draco to get Hermione for her and to take the rest down to get tea, for it was well past time, and she knew they all had to be starving.

Hermione entered, looking worried. “How are you? I do hope he’s done the numbing right. Sometimes it can go awry and your pain will come back—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted. “I can feel the pressure, but there’s no pain.”

“Oh good,” Hermione breathed, taking a seat bedside. “Think you’ll be up to being my bridesmaid?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Hermione,” Virginie said truthfully, grasping Hermione’s hand as she had another contraction. “Just alter the dress….I’ll probably weight twenty stone still.”

“Oh stop,” Hermione snapped. “You’ll look better than anyone else there.”

Virginie groaned. The pressure was increasing.

Hermione knew this. “It shouldn’t be long now,” she said. “If you get the urge to push, tell me, and I’ll go get the Healer. I think it’s a boy.”

“What? No, it has to be a girl,” Virginie snapped, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice on her bedside table. “I don’t want it to be a boy, because Lucius and Narcissa will fall all over themselves with glee.”

“No, I think it’s a boy,” Hermione said with a note of finality. “You’re carrying it all in front; if you were having a girl, the weight would be all over your body: your face, your legs, arms, etc. But it’s all in your stomach. It has to be a boy.”

“Shut up,” Virginie snapped, grabbing Hermione’s hand once more as another contraction came.

“I’m glad Lucius and Narcissa have been nice to Ron and me,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Did you do something?”

“Draco talked to them. Well, we both did. We threatened them with not being able to see their grandchild if they didn’t straighten up.”

“That explains it. They’ve been very civil to the both of us. Are you all right? You look pale,” she said, standing to look at Virginie.

“It just hurts,” she said quietly. “Could you…” She paused as a particularly strong contraction came. “Could you maybe go get Draco….and the Healer….I feel like I need to push….get Draco first….please…”

Hermione nodded, and without a word she Disapparated, presumably down to the cafeteria. Seconds later Draco appeared, looking very worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think this is it,” she said breathlessly, squeezing his hand.

“Hermione’s gone to get the Healer,” he said. He was looking incredibly anxious and couldn’t sit still—it was the closest she’d ever seen him to being unnerved and it frightened her.

“Stop,” she moaned. “Please be calm, Draco, please. You keep me calm.”

“Okay. Okay,” he said, leaning over her. “Calm. I’m calm.”

The Healer entered with two nurses. “Are you feeling the urge to push, Mrs. Malfoy?”

She nodded.

“You are fully dilated, so I’m going to numb you now…if you could just edge yourself to the end of the bed…that’s it….now I want you to stop resisting the urge to push, and simply work with it now.”

She did as he said. The pain was incredible—worse than anything she could have imagined. She resisted the urge to scream, however, and forced all her energy into pushing. Though she was grasping Draco’s hand tightly, she didn’t look at him, because she could sense his fright.

After almost twenty minutes of pushing (five of which she had to stop pushing because Draco had almost fainted and the Healer had to prod him with the counter charm), she felt the pressure lift and the doctor held up the screaming baby.

“A boy!” he bellowed, cleaning the baby with his wand.

It was a blur—Draco was kissing her, telling her he loved her, the baby was crying as he was weighed and prodded with wands, and one of the nurses left the room to tell the others. While she and Draco were still whispering lovingly to one another, they heard a loud CRACK and turned to look.

“What’s happened?” Draco said sharply, and Virginie sat up in bed.

“Don’t be alarmed!” the witchy nurse said, shooing Draco away. “Although you needn’t worry—your baby’s a wizard, not a Squib! We always test, see….gave him a pink pacifier and he switched it to a blue one.”

Virginie sank back into bed with relief—not only because the baby was fine, but also because he was a wizard. Oh God, how ashamed she’d be if her baby had been a Squib, coming from two completely Pureblood families.

The witch handed her the baby…oh God, how wonderful he was…just absolutely perfect. She began sobbing, and Draco put his hand on her shoulder. How far they’d come in just a year and a half was incredible…

“Smile!” one of the nurses exclaimed, and they obeyed.

“Our first family portrait,” Draco said earnestly.

“You’re very corny and predictable,” she chastised softly, caressing the baby’s soft cheeks.

“Shall I go get our families?” he asked, kissing her on the forehead.

“Could you just get my mum and dad first? Or even just the mothers first? I don’t want too many people in here at once.”

He nodded and left. She looked at her gorgeous baby boy—he had very fine blond hair and rather chubby cheeks…he was now sleeping peacefully in her arms. Love like she’d never felt before coursed through her veins like poison.

The mothers entered and immediately began gushing over the baby. Narcissa and Virginie’s mother had a small but friendly argument, each saying that the new baby looked just like their child had when first born.

“Do you have a name, darling?” her mother asked, holding the baby.

“Yes….Preston.”

They both (surprisingly) nodded agreeably.

When all the family had gone and the baby had been taken to the nursery, she flicked out the lights with her wand, and Draco crawled into bed with her. He put his hand very lightly on her arm, as if afraid he would hurt her. Her heart swelled with love for him…they were a family now—Draco, Preston, and herself—and she couldn’t wait to begin their lives together.