The Radiant

---

“My goodness, Ginny. I can’t get over how huge you are.” Hermione had a radiant smile on her face, and Ginny realised that it had been so long since she had seen such a look on Hermione’s face. “Are you sure it isn’t—twins?”

Ginny shuddered. “Yes, I am. I had the doctor test for twins specifically.”

They were sitting in the main library. Hermione had all but demanded to see the room, and Ginny recognized that it was part because she loved books but also partly to continue avoiding the drawing room. Hermione’s hands were spanned over Ginny’s swollen middle—rounding up on her eighth month of pregnancy, Ginny had grown exponentially, had had to replace most of her maternity clothes with bigger ones, had started wearing Lucius’ dressing gowns on a day-to-day basis. He didn’t complain.

Lucius was back in the stacks. He had been sitting on an easy chair towards the rear of the room, reading, but had risen at some point, retreating into the shelves of books. Ginny had kept an eye on him, monitoring his reactions to Hermione. Thus far, he had been behaving himself, rarely glancing over his reading glasses.

Now he was somewhere in the bowels of the library, rummaging around. She could hear muted thumps and a few murmured expletives.

“What’s he doing?” Hermione’s voice was lowered, her head leaned in towards Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. “Who knows? As long as he isn’t being antagonistic towards you, I’m fine with it. How has he been today?”

“Fair. He’s been scowling a fair bit, but he hasn’t let any nicknames for me slip yet.”

“That’s a new record,” Ginny sighed. “I can’t apologise enough, really.”

Hermione shook her head vehemently. “I was quite aware of how my relationship with Lucius would run, Ginny. I didn’t expect to visit the Manor and be treated like a Black. He’s a touch better than his son. And at least he’s trying. Inherently, he’s never going to change—or if he does, it’s going to only be marginally. But he’s fiercely protective of you. And he loves you, even if he never says it.” Ginny flushed. “That much is evident. You’re a smart girl. If he didn’t treat you well, I don’t think you’d be here.” Hermione levelled a discerning look at her. “And now there’s going to be a child. I don’t think Lucius would risk losing you and his baby by offending me so grievously. I have hopes for him. And we have more in common than I’d expect.”

“Hm.” Lucius was standing quietly to the side of them.

Hermione didn’t start, but Ginny did, jumping slightly in her chair. Hermione turned, a slight smile on her face. “What were you doing back there, Lucius?”

He still refused to use her given name, but Hermione insisted on calling him Lucius. “It’s like Voldemort, Ginny,” she had said. “If I use his name, it takes away his power over me.”

“Well,” he said, holding out a thick book. “Take it.”

Hermione hesitated slightly, but then extended steady hands to take the proffered tome from him. “What is it?”

“I heard that you were working with runes.”

Hermione frowned slightly, still looking up at Lucius. “Yes—I’m working with Dumbledore’s old copy of Beedle the Bard. Translating.”

“This is an advanced translating book. From the 14th century.”

Hermione’s ears turned red. “Is this the first edition of the Syllabary?”

Lucius nodded. “You can bring it back whenever you are finished with it.”

“I don’t even know—thank you, I suppose. This is—I didn’t even know any editions existed outside of the Ministry.” Hermione had lowered her head, and Ginny suspected that it was to conceal the fact that her eyes had become brighter.

Lucius paused for a moment before nodding roughly. “It can’t be exposed to bright light.”

“I know.” Hermione had regained herself, her head raised again. She met his eyes earnestly. “This means a great deal to me. Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked mildly distressed, uncomfortable, and it seemed as though he was going to say something else, but he instead turned and walked back to his chair at the rear of the room, picking up the papers he had been writing on.

Ginny smiled shyly at Hermione, who was tracing reverent fingers across the cover of the book. Hermione looked back, her mouth open slightly, her eyes so bright.

“I should go. Ron is away for the night, training, and if I want to get a serious start on this book I need to take advantage of that.” Hermione smiled blindingly at Ginny. “I’ll owl you.”

Ginny grinned at her, and Hermione opened her mouth as though to say something else, but stopped, and instead looked to the back of the room where Lucius was sitting, observing the entire interaction quietly and disinterestedly. Hermione bowed her head toward him, her expression solemn and appreciative, and Ginny was shocked to see that Lucius dipped his head tersely in return.

After Hermione had taken her leave, her voice fading down the mahogany hallway as she chatted with Balius, Ginny turned back to Lucius.

“That was lovely of you.”

He looked faintly uncomfortable still. “It was nothing.”

“No, that was lovely.” She didn’t say what she was thinking—that he was allowing a Muggleborn to actually touch his precious book collection. Instead, she slowly raised herself up, pressing a palm to her lower back, and walked over to him.

His eyes tracked her swollen movements, straying to her rounded middle. “Any movement today?”

Ginny winced slightly as she sat down between his spread legs, her back against his front, using the footstool to prop her feet on. “Yes, actually. Your child is kicking especially violently today.”

“Maybe said child was protesting Miss Granger’s presence!” Lucius’ smile was beaming, but was wiped off of his face when Ginny pinched his inner thigh. “Let me feel.” He placed a palm across her belly. Ginny sighed and leaned back into him, her eyes dropping closed, her chin tucked. “I can’t feel anything.”

“Just wait. You should speak again. Baby recognises your voice.”

“Really?” He sat up a little straighter at that.

Ginny nodded.

“I like that.”

When Ginny had first suggested that Lucius speak, or read, or murmur to her womb, he had balked so fiercely that she had been surprised. It still amazed her how Lucius could be so comfortable with the fluids of their bodies, with the art of fucking, with wielding a whip so ferociously, withstanding the spatter of blood—and yet, trying to introduce him to something as maternal and foreign to him as reading to her belly, he became skittish.

Ginny had levelled him with a narrow-eyed stare, had pointed out that he had had such a dark and disgusting past, and he couldn’t even fathom what she had just suggested—was there something wrong with him?

Lucius Malfoy had been silenced by his pregnant partner, had been momentarily ashamed—only momentarily—and then their nights had spanned out into Ginny sitting up in bed with Lucius on his back beside her, talking half to her and half to his unborn child.

The place under his hand jumped.

“I told you,” she murmured, burrowing back farther into him.

Lucius pressed his palm more firmly into her, raising his other hand to join it. He hadn’t spoken since feeling the baby kick out, and Ginny knew that was because if he did, his voice would be cracking. Instead, he let the paternal pressure of his hands do the speaking, his fingers spanned across her middle.

He let her drift off to sleep against him. She had been so tired lately, and he knew it was because she was using so much more energy just to propel herself around. Lucius sat quietly, enjoying the lush feel of her body, the hardness of her stomach. Ginny had gained weight during the pregnancy, the flesh around her hips becoming softer, her breasts becoming heavier. He smiled as he traced the knuckle of one finger up the centre line of her body, brushing it lightly across her left breast and nipple, watching her as she murmured in her sleep and twisted against him. Her skin had become so sensitive. He had spent an entire night just playing on her nipples, amazed at her new ability to come just from that stimulation, and he had brought her to orgasm again and again just by pressing her breasts together and suckling both nipples into his mouth at the same time.

His child was kicking out an aggressive tattoo, the little hits reverberating along his palm.

“Good for you,” Lucius murmured. He liked that his progeny was assertive and physical. This new son or daughter was going to have to aggressive enough to make it through the world, especially as an illegitimate Malfoy.

He suddenly shook Ginny awake.

“Will it be a Malfoy?”

“What?” She looked up at him blearily, her voice thick. “What will—what?”

“The baby. Our baby. Will it be a Malfoy? Or a—or a Weasley?”

“Malfoy.” Ginny exhaled and turned back, nestling against him again.

“Why?” Lucius was stunned at her admission. He had expected a bitter fight over the last name of his child.

“Because it means so much to you.” She was falling asleep again, her voice drifting. “Because you want it. Because I’m hoping that the baby has bright red hair and therefore won’t need the Weasley last name in order to be identified as such.” She was laughing at him now, he could tell. He jabbed a finger into her side, and she laughed out loud, jerking away from him.

“Well, I’m awake now.” Ginny used his thighs as leverage and pushed herself up, groaning. “Hermione’s right. I am huge. Were you abnormally large when you were born?”

Lucius stood up behind her, bracing her body with his arms, something that she noticed him doing so often now—unconscious and gentle actions that she was sure that he didn’t notice he was doing. “No. I suppose my seed is just exceptionally virile. I like you large like this, though.”

“You like it because it’s a visual reminder of your virility,” she laughed. “And it gives you a sense of ownership over me. And men are less likely to flirt with me when they see I’m pregnant.”

“Less likely? Men shouldn’t be flirting with you at all when you’re carrying my baby.” He sounded scandalised.

“Well, I haven’t been out, really—I haven’t been able to experience it.”

They had decided, a few months back, that it was best if Ginny was photographed at some point, so that the public was aware of her pregnancy. She was tired of hiding under billowing robes, and so one morning, when she went shopping in Diagon Alley, she had worn a form-fitting outfit.

The maelstrom following had been unreal.

Lucius hadn’t let her look at any of the headlines, hadn’t really looked at them himself, had only barricaded the two of them in the master bedroom for four days, getting Balius to bring Ginny’s favourite food right to the room, had read to her and had gone down on her until all thoughts of malicious newspapers were out of both of their heads.

“Good grief,” Ginny continued, placing her hands at her back. “I know I’m supposed to enjoy being pregnant, but I have to say that I’m glad there are only a few weeks left of this. My back hurts. My feet hurt. And you won’t have sex with me.”

“It’s the last month. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I have a normal pregnancy, Lucius. Theoretically, we can have sex.”

“I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I know, I know.” Ginny walked slowly toward the door. “I should just go to bed now. Even though it’s only—” she looked at the clock “—eight-thirty. Good lord. And your baby is wide-awake, too. Come up when you’re done down here.” She moved over the door, turning back to look at him. “And thank you for lending that book to her.”

“I—well, you’re welcome.” He swallowed whatever cynical riposte he had been planning, and Ginny smiled at him over her shoulder.


---


Ginny sat straight up, her nine-month belly hindering her process somewhat.

“Oh.”

Something was different. She felt hot and tetchy and roiling and also—damp.

She grabbed for her wand and illuminated the bed. Lucius moaned something unintelligible beside her, burrowing his head under the white curtain of his hair. Taking her light source, she lifted the sheets, exposing his long and naked body beside her but also her splayed, bare thighs. Between her legs, there was a puddle of liquid on the bed sheets—clear—and she could feel it still seeping out of her.

“Lucius. Wake up.”

While he slowly opened his eyes, Ginny was already pushing herself up and out of bed, grabbing one of his robes and wrapping it around her body.

Suddenly, he was on his feet, all of his instincts kicking in rapidly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lucius looked down at the thrown-back bed covers, and then looked back up at her with an odd look on his face. “Did you wet the bed?”

“No!” She laughed out loud then, a loud chortle of a laugh. “Nothing is wrong,” she said, smiling slightly. “I think I’ve just gone into labour.”

“What?” Lucius grabbed a pair of trousers off of the bureau, and started pulling them on, having to steady himself using a bedpost, nearly falling over in the process.

“I’m not going to have the baby right here. Don’t hurt yourself!” Ginny laughed again, and then her brow creased as she folded her hands over her stomach. “Oh—” She, too, braced a hand on the bedpost, leaning forward, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” Lucius nearly ran around to her side of the bed.

“I’m—fine. There, it passed. They’ll get worse, though. Lucius, you look like a chicken with its head cut off.” Ginny petted his cheek, feeling the tenseness of his jaw. “Just please grab the bag in the closet, and put a shirt on, unless you want to go to the hospital bare-chested. Which I would be fine with, by the way. Do you need a drink? You look pale.”

Lucius stared at her for a moment, and then smiled slowly. “So disquieting, you are—even when you are about to give birth.” He bent over and kissed her, and he could feel her smiling back against his lips.


---


Ginny walked around the large private room that she was now situated in.

St. Mungo’s had not been so busy at two in the morning, which had made Lucius propelling her tightly and quickly through the hallways an easier task. Nurses had scattered out of his way so quickly that Ginny had been afraid to look up into his face, knowing that he would look steely, hard-set.

Said man was sitting in the corner of the room, watching her.

“Should you be walking?”

“Yes, actually. It helps with the first stage of labour. Oh, god.” Ginny groaned and leaned forward, bracing her hands on the bed, moving her hips from side to side as she rode out another contraction, breathing slowly and with purpose.

“I feel useless,” Lucius murmured after the contraction had passed, standing and moving beside her.

Ginny laughed breathlessly. “You’re not useless. Just be here and support me. You wanted an in-depth view of pregnancy and birth, after all.” She drew Lucius to her, kissing him lightly on the mouth. “And don’t get frightened if I yell at you during the birth.”

He frowned slightly.

Hermione Granger burst into the room, panting slightly. Lucius jumped.

“Am I too late?”

“Do you see an infant, Miss Granger?”

Ginny pinched him and turned to Hermione, grinning widely. “How did you know?”

Hermione smiled and flicked her eyes over to Lucius, who stuffed his hands in his pockets and flushed slightly.

“Did you let Hermione know about—”

“I sent an owl to her when you were in the bathroom. Before we left.” He looked embarrassed and cranky on being called out, but Ginny shuffled over to him and gave him another light kiss regardless.

“No, Hermione, you’re not too late. At the moment, I’m about 4 centimetres dilated. I’ve already lost the cervical plug, which Lucius was horrified at. I thought he was going to faint.”

“That’s erroneous. I’ve seen worse than that,” was his dry reply from the corner, and Hermione paled slightly.

“I’m just walking to ease the labour pains. It could be hours from now. And I’m bored. Lucius tried reading the Prophet to me and it was too dry.”

“I brought books,” Hermione said gleefully, pulling some tomes out of her satchel. “Lucius suggested it, actually.”

“I’m going to go to the cafeteria to get some tea,” he muttered, rising. Ginny laughed, and squeezed his arm as he passed by, watching his buttocks as he left the room.

“Did you—did you tell Ron?” Ginny turned slightly pink as she asked the question, even pinker as Hermione bit her lip. “Oh.”

“I mentioned it to him as I left. I didn’t get to see his reaction—I don’t know what he thinks of it. I told him to come, obviously, but—”

“No, no, that’s fine. I’m just very happy that you’re here.” Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand, and brushed away the tears from her face with the back of the other.

“Don’t cry,” Hermione said suddenly, drawing Ginny into her arms. “Here, I can read to you. I brought some of the novels that I’ve been reading lately. Come on, keep walking, and I’ll start them.” Ginny nodded and turned away, rubbing at her eyes, resuming her steady pace.

Lucius came back into the room to see Hermione lying back on the couch, reading out loud to Ginny, who was strolling around the room.

“Here.” He shoved a cup of tea at Hermione’s face. She paused her reading and sat up.

“Darjeeling. That’s my favourite.”

“I know. I notice things,” Lucius sniped back. When he turned to see Ginny, Hermione smiled behind his back.


---


Seven hours later, Ginny had her hair pulled back in a loose bun, stray tendrils sticking to her face, her hands braced on the bed as she endured another contraction. Lucius was sitting on the bed in front of her, his hands overtop of her own, murmuring phrases of encouragement to her, and Hermione was half-asleep on the couch in the room, her finger still holding her place in her book.

Ginny’s face was slick with sweat, her eyes closed, her teeth grinding.

“They’re getting stronger,” she breathed.

“Our child wants to meet us,” he said wryly, brushing her hair back from her face. “You’re doing exceptionally well. When Narcissa gave birth, I could hear her screams from the other wing of the Manor.”

“How charming to talk about your ex-wife at this point in time.” Ginny gritted her teeth at him.

“I’m not trying to bring her to mind,” Lucius explained, soothing knuckles over her eyebrows. “I’m trying to tell you how stoic and how strong you are. This is something that I will never be able to experience.”

“I know,” she whispered, digging her fingers into the bed covers. “Good lord, this gown is irritating me. Would it be improper to take it off and just be naked?”

Lucius raised his eyebrows. “Well—no, I suppose not.”

She reached a hand down between her legs, hiking up the hated hospital gown. He watched, amazed, as she inserted her fingers into herself, feeling around. “The midwife says that there are only two more centimetres to go, now.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just—well, I was feeling for the baby’s head, but it’s not there yet. Just hopeful, I guess.” She blushed a little, and then slapped her hands onto his thighs, digging her fingers in. “Another one.” Lucius placed a hand on her belly and the other on her neck, stroking at her as she groaned out the pain. “These are really painful.” She disengaged from him, lunging deeply and taking wide steps.

“Does that help?”

“Not with the pain,” Ginny breathed, “but with moving the baby into the right position. Helping the birth process.” She grabbed her belly again. “Jesus, they are close—” The rest of her words were replaced by an animalistic groan, along with some choice expletives that Lucius had never heard her say before.

Hermione was upright on the couch. “Is it time yet?”

“No, no, bloody no,” Ginny chanted, half-shouting, roiling her hips from side to side, holding onto Lucius’ shirtfront as he patted her back. “I have two more centimetres to go. I can’t feel the baby’s head. And it’s been seven hours. This baby doesn’t ever want to leave—” Her last word trailed off into a moan.

Lucius had never heard sounds like that. Her small hands were curled into his shirt and trousers, leaving damp palm-prints, and her eyes were closed, her face framed by the light fine curls of hair that were sticking to it. She was biting her lip, pulling at her own hair, dropping her head forward. Hermione was looking at him from over top of Ginny’s bent body, and was miming something frantically.

So he stood, and gently re-positioned Ginny’s hands on the bed, coming to stand behind her, and held her hips as she cried out again. He was amazed at the pure power of her muscles, the primal energy that was throbbing through her body.

Lucius ran firm hands up and down her back, kneading at her sacral muscles. “You’re doing something I can’t ever do. I’m immensely proud of you right now.”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice slightly muffled.

“You are,” he replied, kissing the back of her neck.


---


The midwife and an accompanying doctor came in an hour later.

Ginny was facing backwards on a chair, a pillow wedged between her body and the rungs, and Lucius was sitting similarly on another chair, facing her, so that their faces were mere inches apart. Hermione was firmly stroking Ginny’s back, occasionally helping to brush away the tears that were falling.

When she saw the midwife, Ginny looked up.

“Is it time to push? Oh please, tell me it’s time to push.”

“Almost, now. Just a few minutes longer.”

Her head fell forward onto her arms, but Lucius grabbed a hand and kissed it, biting lightly into the palm.

Ginny rose and stood, crying out as another contraction hit, and then another, and then another in rapid succession.

“Are you sure that she cannot start to give birth yet?” Lucius sounded furious.

“Give it a few more moments, Mr. Malfoy.”

He gritted his teeth, hearing his wailing partner in the background. He watched as Hermione held her hips as she rode out another painful contraction.

After what seemed like forever, the midwife checked Ginny’s dilation for the last time, and looked up at her with a smile. “Well, you’re officially fully dilated. And the contractions are coming close enough that I think it might be time to push.”

Ginny made a half-crying, half-moaning sound, her eyes shut and her head thrown back. She remained standing, which puzzled Lucius, and moved to the foot of the bed, bracing herself on it, facing outwards.

“What the hell is going on?” Lucius hissed his question at Hermione, who was looking equally putout.

“I’m guessing that the contractions are especially strong right now.”

“Lucius!” Lucius stood up immediately, reacting to the harsh sound of Ginny’s voice. “Lucius, I need you to be behind me, now.” She was tearing up, her eyes wet, her hand white on the footboard.

“Why? What? Shouldn’t you be lying down now?” Lucius looked back at the bed linens.

“Ginny’s chosen to deliver in a squatting position.”

Hermione watched as Lucius’ face turned white.

“What?”

“Lucius, please.” Her voice had changed to plaintive and sweet, and he realised that she truly needed him in this moment. “I won’t be able to support myself in this position without your help.”

It wasn’t so much a fatherly feeling that swept over him as much as it was one of intense protectorship. His normally stoic partner had been reduced to moaning and crying out, and was directly informing him of how much she needed him at that moment. Ginny was about to deliver their baby—his baby—and although he was somewhat wary of the process—felt out of place in this world that he deemed all woman and too primal—he realised that she was going to need his help.

“I’d be careful of your shirt, Mr. Malfoy. And your shoes. This might not be neat and clean.”

Lucius blanched slightly, but toed off his shoes and kicked them to the side. Hermione had, thoughtfully, left the room without either of them noticing, seemingly to give them some privacy during the pushing time. Therefore, Lucius felt no hesitation about sliding off his shirt.

“And take this gown off of me!” Lucius shared a slight smile with the midwife, but obeyed Ginny, pulling the hospital clothing off of her body.

He moved behind her, hooking his arms underneath hers.

Lucius was truly struck with how primal the situation was. With Narcissa, he had been relegated to another wing of the Manor, and he was positive that she had given birth lying down. Ginny, however, was stark naked, assuming an upright and powerful position, her legs splayed and her feet planted firmly into the ground. The midwife knelt between her thighs. Lucius could feel the hot sweat of her back against his naked chest, realised how they would look to any observer, realised how he suddenly didn’t care what the midwife thought, how he wouldn’t have cared even if Hermione had been in the room.

Ginny abruptly threw her head back, and Lucius had to struggle, suddenly, to hold up her weight. She made a sound that was akin to a roar, and he looked down into her face, her eyes open and staring back at him, at her pupils, her red mouth. She was straining.

“I don’t think you’ll be pushing for too long.” The midwife was still down between her thighs. “That’s good. Keep pushing. Do you feel an urge to?”

“Yes,” Ginny shouted, her squat getting lower. “Yes, yes, I do—oh, sweet god—” She strained again, and Lucius could feel all of her body tense up, the sheet of muscle on belly so impressive, the trembling of her thighs—he hefted her slightly in his arms, carrying more of her weight along his biceps and chest. His chin was over her shoulder.

“One more push should get us to the crowning.”

Ginny breathed deeply and pushed again, making a low-pitched growling sound. Suddenly she cried out.

“And that’s the crowning. Your baby’s head is out. You can feel it if you want.” The midwife took Ginny’s hand and rubbed it between her legs, over the baby’s head.

Lucius assumed it hurt—badly. Ginny’s eyes had welled up, and for a moment, she looked and scared.

“Keep going, Ginevra.” He murmured his words into her ear. “You’re so close to bringing our new child into the world. I can’t wait to meet them. You’re so strong—keep going.”

She pushed again, clenching her teeth, screaming out, screaming out, and there was liquid that may have been urine, and she was sweating against him, shouting, wailing, and the push seemed to never end—massive push, strong push, painful, painful, and there were tears tracking down her body, mixing with all of the sweat and the liquids and everything, and then—

Then a tiny body slipped out between her legs, into the midwife’s waiting and gentle hands, and Lucius heard the thin cry of his new—

“It’s a girl.”

—Daughter.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, his arms around Ginny but his eyes on the baby.

“Perfectly healthy.”

And then the baby was laid on Ginny’s chest, and Ginny started to cry, pillowing the infant on her breasts. The two of them had slid to the ground, and the umbilical cord was still attached, but Lucius watched as they cut it, and their baby—their baby—was mewling and moving on Ginny’s breasts.

“She’s perfect. And disgusting-looking,” Ginny said through garbled tears, although she was laughing, too. The midwife was examining Ginny, and stitching her, and healing her, and then there was the afterbirth, which neither of them truly noticed.

Lucius was, in fact, struck speechless.

When their daughter was briefly taken away to be cleaned, he helped Ginny to the bed and held her hand as she slid between the sheets. When she was settled, he pulled the covers over her, making her laugh as he fussed with the top of the comforter, trying to make sure it was straight and even. Lucius scowled at her, and then pulled his shirt back on. As he was re-tying his hair, she spoke to him.

“Come into the bed, too.” Her voice was calm and nearly tired, but firm.

“How?”

“Behind me.” She leaned forward slightly, wincing, and Lucius hesitated for a moment before he slid into the bed behind her body, his legs outstretched on either side, overtop of the blankets. She leaned back against him, sighing.

“I’m sorry if I became too maudlin,” she said.

He laughed out loud. “Not at all, silly thing. You just gave birth to our child—without any pain alleviation—and it was the most amazing and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. You were allowed to be maudlin at times.” He kissed her temple, and she patted his knee lightly, her fingertips squeezing him.

“Have you decided on a name?” The midwife was wrapping their daughter in a blanket.

Ginny answered.

“Phaedra Bronte.”

“Big name for a little girl,” the midwife said, handing the bundled baby over to Ginny’s waiting arms.

“We know.”

The staff left them, and Ginny cradled the little thing of warmth in the crook of her arms. “I don’t think she needs feeding yet. Hold her.” She turned slightly in his arms and held the baby out to him.

Lucius paused before reaching out and taking his daughter, crooking his arm and holding her effortlessly.

“I have to say—it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he said, smiling, Ginny with her upper body turned around to watch him. “I never thought I’d get to do it again—” He bowed his head suddenly, stopping speaking, and she patted him on the thigh, turning partially around again, moving to one side so that he had room to hold their child.

He raised his head again, and before she could catch his eyes, he wrapped his free hand in her hair, pulling her toward him, and kissed her hard, his tongue tangling with hers. She sighed into his mouth, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

A soft baby sound from between them interrupted their kiss. Lucius laughed a sticky laugh, and looked down at the new member of their family.

“Yes, you too.” Their daughter was frowning up at them. “I think she’s going to—” She opened her mouth and cried thinly. “Yes, she’s probably hungry.” Lucius handed the baby back to Ginny, and she cradled her, allowing the baby to latch onto an exposed breast.

“There you go,” she murmured.

“Be prepared for many sleepless nights,” Lucius laughed in her ear. “Draco was so finicky that I actually got up at nights—when Narcissa was too tired. I wonder if I can still remember the songs I had to sing.”

“How encouraging,” Ginny laughed back, her voice bell-like and exhausted.

There was a soft tap at the door.

“Come in,” she called. Lucius was watching as his daughter fed, a long finger stroking the baby’s downy cheek.

Hermione poked her head around the door, a huge smile on her face.

“Well?”

Lucius didn’t even have a snarky riposte for her. His eyes were still on his daughter.

“Meet Phaedra.” Ginny smiled, her eyes still red from crying, her cheeks blotchy.

Hermione stepped out from behind the door. “There’s actually—well—er—” Ginny look questioningly at her. Hermione breathed again, a deep sigh of a breath, and spoke. “You have visitors.” She stepped into the room, and from behind the door came three other figures.

“Oh my god,” Ginny breathed. Bill and Charlie stood in the doorway, Bill with his hands in his pockets and Charlie with his stockier arms crossed along his chest. From behind them, a darker head poked out—Harry’s tell-tale askew glasses and floppy hair. The three new men in the room looked slightly awkward.

Lucius noticed the differences in the three of them almost immediately. Charlie’s eyes tracked immediately to the baby, his eyes softening around the edges as he did so. Harry looked right to Ginny, his gaze going to her breasts. Lucius’ arms tightened around her in reaction to that. Bill, however, looked straight at Lucius, their eyes meeting evenly. Lucius refused to look away.

“Bill—Charlie—Harry—” Ginny started to cry again, her arms tightening around her daughter.

“We’ve been out in the waiting room for a few hours,” Bill explained, frowning slightly. “Ron told Harry about the labour, who owled us—we were the—we are the only ones who came, Gin.” The three of them were in the doorway, obviously hesitant to come in.

Lucius looked up, one hand still cupped around his daughter’s head, the other hand entwined with Ginny’s, resting on her shoulder.

She couldn’t see his eyes at that moment, but the four figures in the doorway could, and it was a look that was not quite discernable, and certainly not forgettable. Lucius looked exhausted and yet also elated, and then terrified and yet protective, and his eyes shone with a kind of fear—fear that perhaps the reappearance of her siblings would take Ginny away from him—and yet there was happiness and relief, too—relief that she finally had a piece of her family back, if only for a moment.

He said nothing.

Charlie and Bill stared back at him, unsure. Harry looked at Ginny, who smiled weakly at him, and Hermione looked at the baby, her eyes welling up.

“Malfoy.” Charlie inclined his head, Bill doing the same after a moment’s pause.

Lucius was motionless for a brief pause, and then returned the action honestly.

“Do you want to see Phaedra?” Ginny held her arm up slightly, raising the baby, who had finished feeding.

“Yes,” Hermione said, rushing over to the bed. Lucius made a tsk-ing sound in the back of his throat.

“Bill, Charlie—come here.” Ginny crooked her head. “Come see your niece, please.”

“She has your eyes, Lucius,” Hermione breathed, and while he flinched at the use of his given name, he was also perceptibly pleased at the statement.

“What colour hair?” Harry was closer to the bedside than before.

“Too early to tell, really,” Ginny replied. “Bill. Hold her.”

Bill was the nearest brother to the bedside, and he tried to back up as Ginny brandished the baby at him, but Harry was directly behind him and nudged him forward slightly, and so he had to take the newborn into his arms.

“Uncle Bill,” Hermione said, smiling but crying. Ginny had to reach up and wipe the tears off of her cheeks, laughing at her.

Ginny watched, quiet, breath held, as her eldest brother held her new baby. Lucius stared as well, his eyes narrowed, his mouth silent. Ginny could feel that he was poised for action—his legs coiled in case he had to spring up, grab his child from the freckled hands of the eldest Weasley sibling, prepared for some sort of disaster—

Bill glanced up at her.

“She’s beautiful.” His eyes were soft, and Ginny exhaled shakily, starting to cry. Charlie stroked the baby’s cheek softly, taking her from Bill’s arms, and Ginny cried harder, so much that Lucius bent to kiss the top of her head, squeezing her hand subtly. Charlie was murmuring to the baby, and Harry was talking with Hermione, and all of a sudden Ginny was exhausted, and fell back heavily against Lucius’ torso.

“Dad wanted to come, Gin.” Charlie looked up suddenly and spoke to her, cradling Phaedra against his chest. Ginny sucked in a breath. “He did, but he just can’t—yet. Not yet.” She nodded silently, her eyes rimmed red, but her mouth stoic.

“I think we should go,” Hermione murmured. “You look exhausted, Gin. You’ve been hard at work.” She laughed, and bent to kiss the head of red hair, her tears tracking onto Ginny’s forehead.

Charlie reached out, at first making as though to hand the baby back to Ginny, and then paused, shifted, and handed her to Lucius instead, who met his eyes silently but nodded, accepting his daughter into his arms. The small truce was sealed in that moment, the significance of the fact that Charlie had actively passed the child onto Lucius not lost on anyone.

“Congratulations,” Charlie said, almost brusquely, and Lucius nodded again.

“Thank you, Weasley.”

“You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t fuck it up, Malfoy.” Bill’s voice was lower, and Ginny growled and pinched him as he spoke, but Lucius narrowed his eyes in a discerning manner and inclined his head.

“I don’t plan to.”

“Don’t swear around my baby,” Ginny muttered.

Harry tilted his head to the side, watching them.

“And you, Harry?”

“I think you look happy.”

Ginny nodded, and then yawned.

“We’ll come back later,” Harry said.

The four left the room, and Ginny sighed.

“That went better than I expected, actually. I had no idea they would come.”

Lucius stroked her neck thoughtfully. “They were civil. I don’t think it’s ever—going to be the same, Ginevra.”

“I know,” she said quietly. There was silence as they sat, comfortably. “Can you put her in the cot, please?”

“I’ll hold her for a while, actually.”

Ginny nodded her assent, and Lucius slid out from behind her, taking the baby from her outstretched arms, and held her upright over a shoulder, a large hand enveloping her head and back. He moved over to the couch and sat down on it, watching as Ginny turned over in the bed and fell asleep.

Lucius held his daughter close to his chest, feeling her concentrated warmth on his skin. She was swaddled in her blanket, wearing a little cap that one of the nurses had put on her. She scowled up at him again, and he smiled, patting her back as he burped her. He rubbed his cheek lightly against her skin, spreading his fingers across her back.

“You are going to have a harder lot in life,” he murmured. “Not in your family life—we will care for you so fiercely it will make our hearts hurt. But people are going to make fun of you. They are going to tease you. And you will be hurt by it. Nobody wanted your mother and I to be together. But we will protect you, and we will listen to you, and we will help you through everything. So be brave, little light. You have a long and hard and wonderful road ahead of you.” He kissed her head.

She yawned.

Lucius laughed.

When Ginny woke up a few hours later, he was stretched out, supine, on the couch, asleep, his long legs over the end, his daughter sleeping in a tiny bundle on his chest.


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