The Radiant

---


Lucius shuffled through his closet, picking through the layers of velvet and satin and tweed.


---


Ginny sat on the toilet, thinking.


---


He pulled on a pair of trousers, the well-cut material sliding lusciously over his naked calves and thighs and tight buttocks. As he fastened the buttons, he sorted, one-fingered, through his selection of cuff links, frowning slightly.


---


She stood and walked over the medicine cabinet, sorting through the vials and bottles carefully, eyes peering over the caps.


---


Lucius brushed his hair steadily, his eyes closing at the pleasant sensation of the bristles running along his scalp. He tied it back evenly, knotting the ribbon into a bow.


---


Ginny sat on the bathroom counter, holding a piece of toilet paper in her hand and a small vial in the other.

Lucius ambled in nonchalantly, still shirtless, looking for his straight razor and shaving cream, stopping briefly when he noticed her perched on the counter beside the sink.

“Hello.” He bent forward and kissed her. “What are you doing up there?”

Ginny was silent, holding her palms out, and Lucius looked quizzically at her for a moment before tilting his head to look down. He noticed her hands and the contents of them. “What are you—what—is that—” He stopped speaking, and looked at her quietly, a sort of apprehension and excitement painted across his face.

“Er—yes.” Ginny looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Green means—means yes. Red means no—negative.”

“It’s green.”

“Yes—er—yes, it is. So—yes. It means yes. Positive.”

“Positive,” he repeated slowly, his eyes on the potion in her hand. “Which means—”

“Means—that—baby,” she murmured, a slow smile starting. How womanly she looked in that moment, that quirking and almost sly smile curling up around her mouth, her lips pink and full, her hair loose and morning-snarled down around her shoulders, her eyes still hazy with the remnants of sleep. Lucius was struck—thought that maybe, for a fleeting moment, that he was in too deep, too far over his head, that she was the seducer, the goddess, something far too smart for his own self.

“Baby,” he repeated, saying the word out towards her.

They were a still tableau for a moment, Lucius staring at her in surprise and yet also calmness, Ginny sitting on the counter, her legs dangling, the pregnancy test held out in her hand, the green contents of the vial still and even.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

And then his face broke into a brilliant, jubilant smile, and he slid between her legs, pulling her into him, holding her so tightly that she laughed, breathlessly, and he was rubbing his cheek against her neck, and her face, and her shoulders, his arms feeling as though they were wrapped around her more than eighty four times.

He picked her up from underneath, his hands under her buttocks, they moved down to the bathroom floor, she astride him, his arms strong and thick.

For a moment he looked at her, up and down, smiling slightly. Ginny grinned back, her teeth bright and prominent, her happiness genuine as she saw his face brighten.

His hand was reverent across her abdomen. “How long has it been?”

“I’m guessing I’m at about three weeks. Maybe a month. Which means that the heartbeat will be audible, soon. And the little legs, and arms—they’ll be developing.”

Lucius had her on his lap, the fingers of one of his hands playing loosely with hers, the other hand across her skin, their faces close to each other.

“Will you show?”

“You just want the world to see that you’ve got me sprogged up.”

“Well,” he smiled. “Maybe.”

“I’ll show a little. People might be able to tell that I’m pregnant. Or they might not.” She shrugged.

He slid his hand across her stomach, and looked down at it. “I can’t imagine you getting so large.”

She laughed. “I know. Me neither. I’m nervous, actually.”

“Don’t be. I’ve been through this, remember? Well, somewhat. I wasn’t incredibly hands-on with Narcissa’s pregnancy. I was better with Draco’s infanthood. Mainly because he screamed so much that Narcissa needed all the help she could get.”

“How comforting,” Ginny said.

“Well, Draco was a finicky baby.” His palm pulsed over her stomach. “Not this one. This one is going to be stoic. And smart.”

“Oh, really,” she said, smiling.

“I just know. I know it.” He paused. “What about sex?”

“Well, I’ll double check with the doctor, but if it’s a normal pregnancy, without complications, it should be fine. We’ll have to get—er—creative—with some of the positions once I grow larger.” She nuzzled at his neck, tugging at his hair. “But I think that the hormones will make up for it. In a few months there will be so many of them in my system that I think I’ll want you all the time. Well, more than all the time, because I always want you all the time.” She licked at his neck.

“I’m very happy.” His voice was even but she could sense a tremulousness behind it.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he said. His palm was hot and weighty on her stomach, and she looked up into his face, her mouth full and lush and wondering. His eyes were brilliant and moist, and she scanned his lower lashes, nothing the drops nearly caught in them—not quite, but close. She felt as though she could reach out with a fingertip and catch them, taste them, slide them inside of her mouth. He moved forward, kissing her smacking and hard. “My baby,” and his voice did not crack but then—then, almost did, almost snapped hot and brittle in the middle

“Baby,” she murmured, her mouth moving closer to his. “Your baby,” she smiled.

“My child,” he murmured back at her, his mouth breaking into a brilliant smile, his breath suddenly galloping into an uneven, wet gasp of an inhale, as though he were trying as hard as he could not to cry. Ginny nodded furiously, her eyes tight and wet, too, her hair flying in red tendrils, her gaze fixed on his.

Lucius Malfoy sobbed.

Ginny watched in amazement as his face split, his mouth rumpling into sections, his eyelashes growing so wet they looked webbed and dewy. He wound his arms around her, crushing her into his chest, burrowing his face into her white neck, and she could feel his frantic, hot breath on her skin, his unseen tears streaking down her collarbones, and he wracked, sobbed, held her.

Ginny slowly brought her hands up to the back of his head, clasping desperately onto his hair, pressing her fingers into his scalp, rocking with him. She looked up to the ceiling, trying to stop her own tears from falling, but failing—the hot liquid traced slowly from her eyes, treacly and languid, and her own tears fell onto his light hair. Her groin was fitted against his, the heat burning them together. Ginny breathed heavily, smelling the lemon and verbena scent of his hair, the deep musk of his skin, the salt of his sweat and tears. His arms were thick and solid around her, and she felt small and fragile.

They sat still for some time, until Ginny pulled back slightly, meeting his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue slickly between his lips, tracing over his teeth, his cheeks, and he mumbled into her mouth, bringing a hand up to the back of her head, clasping onto her frantically.

When they pulled back from each other, they gasped stickily, and Ginny pressed her forehead into his, her smaller hands on either side of his face.

“I’m scared, you know,” she said softly. “I’m scared.”

His hands alternated from her buttocks to her stomach to her waist, his touch everywhere and possessive and tender.

“I’m here,” he said, low and harsh.

She breathed.

“I didn’t know that you wanted more children—so much.”

“I do. I do. I always did. I was a terrible father to Draco at times.”

“But you loved him. He knew that. He must have known that.” Their faces were still centimetres apart, so close to each other.

“I hope so,” he breathed. “I hope so. But I always wanted to prove myself again—to not fuck it up. Because I fucked him up.”

“No,” she said, blinking and seeing her tears fall. “No—he’s not as bad as you think. Draco’s smart and confident and he loves you very much. Very much. You’re not going to fuck anything up.”

His mouth was everywhere, trailing down her neck, licking hard and fast across her collarbone, his fingers pressing into her shoulders, holding her tightly to him.

“Do you know what it will be like? To see you large with my child?” His hands were back at her stomach now, and Ginny shook her head slightly. “It will be magnificent. It will be the greatest thing—the greatest gift—that I’ve ever received—childbirth—like Draco was such a gift, and now another—I don’t even—” He breathed in. “I will take you out everywhere so people can see us. I won’t be uncomfortable in public. I want to be right. To be proper. I want people to see you, blooming in pregnancy, heavy and soft.” He kissed her, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. “I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you. Every night. Every day. I will want to touch you, to feel the weight of your breasts in my hands, the softness of your hips against mine.”

Ginny smiled. “You’re very poetic.” He flushed slightly and she realised that she had embarrassed him. “No, no, I wasn’t being snide.” She pressed her palms into his face, meeting his eyes. “That all sounds wonderful. It sounds wonderful. This is going to be hard work. This means—this means forever,” she said, her eyes widening. The gravity of the situation sunk in.

“I know,” he said, his arms still around her. “I know. But I always thought it was forever. A baby doesn’t change that.” She still had the wide-eyed look on her face. “Well, we’re not married so if you do want to ever leave me, you’re free to.”

Ginny laughed, then. “Oh, good.” She nuzzled at his neck, opening her mouth and kissing hotly at his skin. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Don’t,” he said, almost painfully. “Don’t.”


---


“I hate you. I hate you. Freud was right. I’m loathing you right now. I’m trying to vomit up your baby.” Ginny had her head on the toilet seat, and Lucius was sitting on a chair beside her, torn between grinning and looking sympathetic. There was a book spine-up on his knee. “Stop smiling.” She turned her head and clutched at the porcelain, emptying another volley of bile into the bowl.

His fingers were cool across her forehead, pulling the hair off of her skin, holding the rest of her hair back. One hand was rubbing up and down her back.

“Did Narcissa have this?” Ginny’s head was turned to the side, her cheek pillowed on the back of her hand.

“Yes, actually. She had awful morning sickness. Worse than yours, you sissy.” Ginny scowled. “The vomiting starting as soon as she got pregnant and continued on into the second trimester, which was unusual. We had to have a specialist come in to make sure she didn’t get too dehydrated.”

“Don’t tell me that,” she groaned, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Lucius smiled. “I already told you that Draco was an extremely finicky baby.”

“Probably because of Pureblooded inbreeding,” she muttered.

He tugged on her hair in retaliation. “Don’t be cruel. Although you have a point. The Black family line is particularly inbred. Actually, aren’t you and Draco kissing cousins?”

Ginny stared at him for a minute before vomiting again—violently.

Lucius laughed, rubbing her back still. “I think you’re something like third cousins, once removed. Or maybe just third cousins. It’s fine.”

“Am I related to you?”

“I don’t think so,” he murmured, stroking at her hair. “The Malfoy line is separate from the Black line—dates back to France, and is therefore a different gene pool altogether. Besides, all of the older Pureblooded families are related anyway. As long as it isn’t first cousins—I think it’s fine.”

“Lovely,” she grumbled, pushing herself up from the toilet, walking to the sink, rinsing her mouth out over and over again with water.

He came up to stand behind her.

“You’re almost at the end of the third month, now, aren’t you?”

“That’s what the doctor said, yes,” she murmured, splashing the water on her face. He was directly behind her, his arms on either side of her arms, his body around hers. She looked up in the mirror and met his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I think we should tell people. Everyone.”

Ginny thought for a moment. “I guess getting past the first trimester is the riskiest part.”

Lucius was lipping at her hair, mouthing against her skin. She shook slightly, and he stopped, looking at her curiously in the mirror.

“I need to tell my family.”

---

He stood behind her. She looked at him in the mirror—the blond hair pulled back tightly and bound into a braid, the severe black robes buttoned up to his neck, the cane that she had convinced him to leave at home lying on the floor of the closet. Instead, Lucius carried his wand in an inner pocket of his over-robe.

He looked almost nervous.

Ginny had waited as long as she had to tell her family because she had wanted to get past the first trimester—past the trickiest part, the red zone. It would be a stressful conversation, she knew, and she didn’t want anything to endanger the life of her child.

Lucius helped her into the long set of blue robes, lacing up the back with a deftness that surprised her. He was silent, and she thought.

She had heard neither hide nor hair of her family—not since the blowout at The Burrow and then that conversation with Ron. She had been hoping that Ron would have come to his senses and perhaps tried to contact her—the last meeting hadn’t ended so awfully—but there had been nothing.

Ginny wasn’t sure if she felt bereft. Having Hermione back in her life was helping her immensely and there was almost a sense of—of relief—of something lighter, now that she was cut-off of the family. It was an odd mix—she missed them terribly. She missed her eldest brothers the worst, lean Bill and roughened Charlie. But at the same time, she felt the lightest she had ever felt.

“How are you feeling?” Lucius’ voice was stark and deep.

It was as if he was reading her mind, at times. Ginny smiled and shrugged, though she was sure that her smile was watery and patchy and not at all reassuring.

His hands were warm on her shoulders as she combed out her hair and plaited it quickly—he was so close to her that his chin was nearly on top of her head.

“I never really noticed how small you are,” Lucius murmured, his hands rubbing slowly up and down her arms, warming her.

Ginny smiled again, her hands shaking slightly as she bound the end of her braid over her shoulder. “I’m scared,” she said, softly, and his hands stopped their motion. “And I’m scared for you, too, because they will want to kill you. They will want to kill you, Lucius. Just—keep a hand on your wand.”

He brushed a palm over her forehead, pulling her back gently into his body, and folding his arms over her.

“They can do nothing to me. Nothing. Do you understand?” His voice was harsh against her ear. Ginny felt an odd weight inside of her—an odd feeling—that came from the need to be loyal to her family and yet the also greater need—the heavier need and heavier want—to be loyal to Lucius. She had a secret thrill that ran through her at his words, even though they were words against her family, her brood. She knew that if it came down to it, Lucius would battle for her. She wondered if that was why he tied his hair back—to prepare for war. “They can nothing to me because I am the most powerful and the happiest that I have ever been at the moment. Because,” he said, a hand cupping her stomach lightly through the robe, “because there is new life. And because I have you.”

His eyes were flint and smoke. He was dead serious and yet also so earnest in the same moment.

Ginny nodded. “Don’t do anything unless I say to—please.”

Lucius nodded in turn. “I will follow your lead.”

“I’m surprised you’re coming.” She turned around to face him and smooth one of his lapels.

“I’m not sending you into that fire-ant hill without protection.” He was sneering.

“Lucius—they’re my family.”

“And they’ve treated you like a fucking dog, Ginevra. None of them—none of them—could look beyond my sins from the past—” his face flinched slightly “—and congratulate you. The Mudblood was the only one to do that. How ridiculous is that? How ridiculous is that?”

Ginny sighed and tilted her head.

“These are sins that I have atoned for, you know. And—well, never mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be upsetting you right before we leave,” he said, wrinkling his brow slightly.

“You’re right, you know. But blood is supposed to be thicker than water—to be thicker than semen, maybe.” Ginny laughed roughly. “So I should be defending them against you, I suppose.”

He looked at her for a long moment, almost impassively, and then inclined his head towards her. “You do whatever you need to do,” he said, and it wasn’t vitriolic or caustic or cynical—it was serious and supportive and weighty.

“We’re surprising them—I don’t know who will be at home right now.”


---


It had been Ron, and Molly, and George who had been at The Burrow when Lucius and Ginny had Apparated into the front yard and then knocked on the door.

That was the part that had confused Ginny—she was unsure of whether to knock on the door or not. In the past she had always just barged in, shouldering her way through the crowd of raucous relatives and brothers and blood, making her way to the kitchen in order to help her mum start serving the food.

But that was before Lucius. And now she was almost laughably unsure. So she knocked, and when her mother answered the door and all of the colour drained from Molly’s face, Ginny swayed on her feet for a moment.

Lucius’ hands were at the small of her back, and she could feel his heartbeat in his thumbs—a fast pace, a nervous pace.

“Can I—can we—come in, mum?” Ginny hated that her voice was more maudlin than she had wanted it to be—not at all confident.

Molly was silent.

From behind the figure of her mother, Ginny could see the figures of Ron and George, looking out curiously and angrily and amazedly at the scene on the doorstep.

“Mum,” Ginny said again, and Molly shook her head abruptly.

“No.”

Even Lucius winced at this.

“No?” Ginny’s voice was pale and small in comparison to the chopped tones of her mother. “Not even to introduce you to the newest member of the Weasley family?”

It took a few seconds for the statement to properly hit home, but when it did, Molly dropped the spoon she had been holding—coated with gravy—on the concrete of the doorstep. Sauce flew upwards, spattering the hem of Ginny’s robes and then Molly’s skirt-shown legs with brown dots.

Ginny didn’t even blink. Lucius was silent behind her, his hands reassuring and strong.

Ron and George’s eyes were so large that Ginny could nearly see her reflection in them.

“What?” Molly’s voice was a sort of deadly calm—but there was a strain of incredulity in there, something that could, in time, be identified as pleased or happy. It was the tiniest iota, but it was not lost on Ginny.

“I’m pregnant.”

Molly turned to meet eyes with Lucius. “I bet you’re proud of yourself.” Lucius was still and silent, assessing the situation. Ginny could feel his muscles tense, and she knew that he was preparing for a fight. She willed him not to strike her mother.

The sun was starting to set, and the orange was hitting the house, illuminating their argument.

“I bet you’re proud of yourself for getting my daughter pregnant. Someone twenty-five years your junior. For shame, Lucius Malfoy.”

“She did have a say in the matter, too,” he said shortly.

“She’s my only daughter.” Molly’s voice had reached the same level of harshness and volume that she had spoken in when she had battled Bellatrix. Ginny winced and stepped forward as if to mollify, but Lucius moved first.

He stepped in close to Molly, his face lining up with hers, and the rest of the Weasley family that was present watched in a type of shock.

No one had stood up to Molly like that before—no one had taken up her physical space. Even Molly moved as if in surprise, her face tilted back slightly, her chin tucked, her eyes somewhat widened.

“And look how damned shoddily you are treating her!” His words were a veritable snarl, and they rendered everyone speechless for a moment. “Look at this. Look at what you did—after she told you, you struck her. You did—her mother. And then none of you—none of you—” and here he swept a disdainful look through the doorway, at Ginny’s two brothers “—made any effort to contact her. Oh, except for the brother who was closest to her in age—her former good friend and ally—a former hero to her—setting the Aurors constantly on our house. That was a charming addition to the humiliation, Ronald—when I had to go pick your little sister up from the Ministry’s holding cells at three in the morning.” Lucius stared at said brother, and then turned his gaze back to Molly. “And you. You should be ashamed. I had many faults as a father—god knows I’ve made the worst decisions for my child—but I’ve never iced my own child out of the equation. I love my son with all of my heart, and in the end that was what drove me during the—during—it all. And know this—that being compared to Lucius Malfoy—as a parent, as a caregiver—and being found wanting—that is truly, truly abominable.”

Lucius stopped, taking a deep breath for a moment. His features solidified once again, and he looked less berserk and more stoic. Molly was silent and still, watching him, part owlish, as if evaluating what he was to do next, and part shell-shocked, her eyes widened. Lucius then simply glanced at Ginny, and then inclined his head and walked away, to the edge of the property, gathering his thoughts, calming himself.

Ginny stepped forward to her silent mother.

“Mum.”

Molly seemed to move as though being pulled from a haze of sleep. The wideness and softness of her facial features moved, the soft jelly of her cheeks shaking slightly as she turned to her daughter.

“Mum—he’s right, you know. I know that you hate—that you all hate,” she said, looking back at Ron and George. “But stop it. Stop hating. It’s unhealthy for you and it’s hurting me so much. So much,” she repeated, her voice snapping in the middle of the word. “I miss my mum. I miss my family. I’m making my own family now, and it’s for good. And I want you—I want all of you—to come back to me. And to be a part of my life. Please. Please.” Ginny straightened up, brushing a few stray hairs back from her eyes, and just like that, her eyes went from liquid and pleading to determined. “But I won’t ask anymore. I won’t beg. This is my last visit. It has to be. I cannot keep on putting stress on myself and on Lucius.” At Lucius’ name, there was an inhalation from within the ranks of her brothers present. “Yes, Lucius,” she said. “That’s who I’m with now, after all—he is half of the life that’s inside of me. Remember that and repeat that. It’s not a lie. It’s not pretend. And so I will say goodbye. You know where to owl me, and you know where to contact me. Please—please do.” Ginny held her hands out for a moment, as though she were reaching for her mother, and then dropped them after a split-second. She turned on her heel and walked purposefully away from the house.

Lucius was leaning against one of the trees in her front yard, his back to her. She could tell that his arms were crossed. He appeared to be watching the sun as it descended to the horizon.

Ginny walked up behind him, resting her forehead in the centre of his back. She was sure that perhaps some of her siblings were watching them from the living room window of the family house, from the open door, but she didn’t care. Lucius exhaled at her touch, but didn’t turn. Ginny wound her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek against his robe, against the tip of his braid.

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, a small smile across his mouth.

Ginny looked up at him, illuminated in the glorious orange of the impending sunset, his hair brilliant, his teeth flashing, and she smiled back at him, sliding around to his side. He slung an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her in tightly to him.

“Let’s go home.”

After she spoke the words, the two of them disappeared from the front yard, leaving behind only indents, the remnants of orange shadows, an unsettled feeling still in The Burrow, a shocked family, an outstretched palm.

Neither of them knew that there was still more family business that would be rearing its head in the next few days.


---


Later that week, Ginny went shopping at Diagon Alley. Lucius had a meeting at the Manor, and she had shooed him off after asking him what books he had wanted her to pick up.

Browsing Flourish and Blotts had always been soothing for Ginny. The manufactured smell of the pages—the high gloss, the dancing words across pages—it all calmed her, helped to tame her roiling heart, her waving insides, no matter what the situation.

The store was too crowded for her liking today, and a particularly fat witch kept jostling into her, throwing her forward against the book shelves. Ginny scowled, her eyes forward, and picked through the crowd, heading to the Dark Arts section. Of course Lucius had asked her pick up a book on Medieval curses—she shook her head as she thumbed through the titles.

“Of course you’d be here.”

The voice was familiar that Ginny couldn’t help but smile in reaction.

Draco was beside her, a few books bundled under his arm, his hair falling into his face, the sharp slope of his nose illuminated by the wall sconces. She tilted her head and looked at his parcels.

“Yet I find it surprising that you’re here.”

It was a direct jab to his reticence to read—Draco disliked books, always had. Lucius had alluded to it on more than one occasion. Ginny squared her head off and stared him straight in the eyes.

Draco flinched for a moment. “Good shot,” he murmured, hefting the books under his arm to re-settle them on his hips. “It’s research for a guest article I’m writing for—your paper, actually.” He looked at the titles that Ginny’s hand was hovering over. “Medieval torture spells and curses. Father’s taste is as innocuous as ever, I see.” He looked back at Ginny, daring her to speak in a way.

Ginny looked at him for a moment, and then reached her hand out impulsively, brushing her thumb pad over his cheekbone. Draco didn’t fight her off but instead closed his eyes, as a cat might, not quite leaning into her touch but savouring it, almost as though he were rolling it off of his tongue, sticking it to the roof of his mouth.

When she dropped her hand, there was a moment of thick silence.

“It’s too crowded in here.” He broke the quiet first, turning his head awkwardly to eye the pudgy witch that had been bumping into Ginny earlier—who had made her way over to their section, eyeing them hungrily. “Are you eavesdropping? Go away.”

“Draco,” Ginny laughed.

In the middle of her laugh, her voice warbled, and she set the book she was holding back down onto the shelf.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

Ginny placed a hand on her chest, feeling an immense and greying wave of nausea wash through her. The vision at the corner of her eyes blurred slightly. She bent over.

“Are you—are you alright?” His voice was perplexed.

“No,” she heaved. “I’m going to throw up.”

“What?” He gaped at her for a moment.

“I’m going to—” Ginny heaved again, her face draining paler. “I’m going to throw up. Here. Now. Please help me,” she said, her hand shaking slightly as she ran it through her hair.”

“Oh, god,” Draco muttered, wrapping one arm around her smaller frame and holding the other up in front of him, elbow out. He began pushing through the crowd, elbowing irate people out of the way. “Move, please. Move.” Most people shifted out of his way, moving to avoid the constant pressure of his arm against them.

Ginny was dragged along by him, one hand over her mouth. She was being shot curious looks, some glares, some narrowed eyes. People had, by now, definitely identified her as the lover of Lucius Malfoy, and the reactions to her differed. To be seen, dragged behind Draco Malfoy, was raising some suspicions.

He elbowed his way through the crowd, and Ginny could feel the strength of his arm around her, the way his muscles held her in place, and she remembered the feeling of him inside of her, and the world spun briefly.

Draco burst outside, and Ginny skittered around him, unsteady, into the alleyway beside the store, half bent over, a hand at her mouth.

“Gin,” he started, his eyes scrutinising but wide. “Gin, what on earth—”

“Take me somewhere other than here,” she breathed. “Now. Now!””

Draco didn’t think, merely acted, and grabbed his wand and Apparated them to the first spot he thought of.


---


When Lucius looked out his study window and saw Ginny vomiting into his lillies, he wasn’t particularly surprised. It took a lot to surprise him, after all of his past. He raised his eyebrows as he watched her heave. What surprised him more, however, was that his son was beside her, awkwardly looking on, his hand hovering over her back as though he were deciding whether to pat her comfortingly or not.

Lucius put his hands in his pockets and stood, watching.


---


“Are you—are you feeling—are you fine now?”

Ginny was bent over, her hands on her knees, as she spat out the taste of bile from her mouth. She nodded. “Thank you for removing me from that situation. I didn’t want to vomit in Diagon Alley—not in front of everyone.”

“You’re welcome, I suppo—” He broke off, his eyes narrowed and his head cocked at her.

Ginny looked up at him warily, wide-eyed. Draco was a fury, but Draco was not stupid.

“Are you—are you pregnant?”

Ginny stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

His eyes widened.

He let out a strangled, choked sound—almost a shriek, almost preternatural, and Ginny blinked as the noise of it hit her. Draco whirled away from her, throwing his arms up over his head, holding onto his opposite elbows, running fingers through his hair, making it stick up on end.


---


Lucius watched as his son physically reacted to what he could only assume was Ginevra telling him about the baby.

He was kicking at the ground, his hands gnarled above his hand, and Lucius realised how young he looked—how almost vulnerable in his twisted, distressed state. A part of him truly wanted to rush out to the garden and pull his son into his arms, but the other part knew that she had to work this out with him by herself.

Draco reached out with a hand and swiped at the lillies, the heads fluttering.


---


He eventually calmed, his shoulders heaving. He was still facing away from her, but she could see the slowing of his breath.

“Draco,” she said mellifluously.

He made a sighing sound, and when he turned around, Ginny was relieved to see that he was not crying, but simply looked tired. She took a step closer to him.

“Thank you for what you did for me today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, looking briefly up at the large study window that he was sure his father was at, looking at the two of them.

“You’re still the sole beneficiary and inheritor, Draco.”

“You think that’s why I’m perturbed?” His face was incredulous. “I could give a shit about that. I’m just—it’s—” He floundered, scrubbing at his face with the palms of his hands. “It’s a change, Ginny.”

It was not the time for her to remind him that he had been the one to leave her. Instead, she watched him closely, her hands clasped behind her back.

“I know,” she said softly.

“I—it’s his, right?” He looked alarmed suddenly, and she realised that he was thinking back to the night where they had shared her.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is,” and then she laughed at the absolute inappropriateness of the situation.

“I hadn’t realised that it was so—so serious. With you two.” His cheeks were pink. “I didn’t think my father would—after my mother—again. But with you. With you.” He looked at her thoughtfully, then looked away. “This is so fucking unreal.”

“You’re going to be an older sibling.”

“Yes, to a child whose mother is younger than me.”

“This isn’t where I saw myself either, Draco. I thought, for a while that—”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, and then winced.

“What?” His word was harsh and she was reminded of his father—how Lucius spoke when he was perturbed and impatient.

“That maybe it would be you. I don’t know.” She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, the world dizzy and blurred again, and when she brought her hands down he was closer to her.

He exhaled slowly.

She stared at him.

Finally, he spoke. “No. We wouldn’t have lasted that long.”

She was relieved to hear him admit it, finally, out loud. It made her feel like less of villain.

“I know.”

Draco moved before she noticed properly, his rapid approach so like his father’s, and then he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Ginny wound her arms around his waist, her hands clawing up his back as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, rocking her slightly. They drew deep breaths together.

“I need a friend, Draco.” Her voice was cracked.

“I can’t promise that I’ll be so good,” he said. “But I won’t be absent from your life. Your—your lives, I suppose. You and my father.” His words were muffled against the top of her head. “And I won’t promise any bollocks friendship with fucking Potter or his cronies because of this. You realise that?”

She nodded into his chest, half-laughing, half-crying.

“Well—good, then.”

And then she tilted her head up and Draco leaned down, and their mouths met softly, briefly, for a light kiss, and when she tilted her head back down and away from him, he rested his chin on her head and thought.


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Lucius turned away from the embracing figures, cracking his neck and back. He would ask the elves to set a third place at the dinner table, maybe.


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