So Lucky

PART ONE: AN HEIR AND A SPARE

I'm so lucky. The luckiest woman in the world! I'm married to the most brilliant and handsome and exciting and compassionate man in the world. Every morning, when I wake from my dreamless sleep and see him lying beside me, I could burst with happiness. I feel so happy I could die. I can't resist touching and kissing him and running my fingers through that soft, silky, silver-blonde hair. Usually he doesn't mind, but when he's campaigning I have to restrain myself.

Running for office is draining, and fund-raising is even worse.

I try to be understanding, but it's so hard to restrain myself. He smells so good. He tastes so good. I love him so much it hurts. I don't deserve him, I really don't. However did I land him?

Hermione Malfoy! Some days I just don't believe it. I never thought I would carry that name. I never thought I would be lucky enough to bear children to the Malfoy line.

The first one was a girl, but Draco forgave me that. I named her Florence, after that noble city of great art. I seem to remember visiting there and oohing and aahing over the sculptures.

(Can't remember when or with whom I visited Florence--

That's not important.)

Then we had Gabriel. Even as a newborn, he looked just like an angel. Not all red and wrinkly the way Florence had been. Draco, flush with pride, indulgently allowed his heir to bear the name of Christendom's most famous angel. He chucked as he inscribed the name in the record. "The irony," Draco said, "is just too, too delicious!"

Florence looks like an angel now, too. Florence and Gabriel. My angels. My babies. My life.

Draco and I are expecting again. I'm not quite five months along, but I know it's a boy. I can't decide what to name him. I'm not worried--it'll come to me. When I looked at my other babies for the first time, I knew who they were. As if an angel had whispered in my ear. I'll know the right name for the spare when first I hold him in my arms.

'The spare.' That's what Draco calls him. I got fed up with it and threw a pillow at him. I even hit him! But he just laughed. I'm lucky to have a husband who indulges me so. I'm not the best of company right now.

Just like with my other babies, I long to hold him, to look into his eyes, but this time my reasons are more selfish. I'm not sailing through this pregnancy like I did the first two. And I used to wonder why other women complained so. I want to get it over with. Poor Draco. He really does love me. He holds my hand and looks into my eyes and listens to me whine. (I could sink into those big beautiful grey eyes and drown.) I'm turning into a baby myself. It's just that I'm used to being healthy and strong. I can't bear spending most every waking moment in bed.

It could be worse. I feel fine as long as I'm lying down. But when I sit up I get dizzy and nauseous. Standing is out of the question, never mind walking! The house-elf has to help me to the bathroom. Oh, the humiliation!

I keep forgetting my personal house-elf's name. I keep calling her Tinky or Blinky, but that's not right. Thank God she doesn't mind. She's been a lifesaver. Somehow she gets the kitchen staff to concoct delicious variations of the few foods I can stomach. She makes sure I take my vitamins and even got me some limb weights so I could get some sort of exercise. And even though getting me into the tub is so much harder than sponging me off, she doesn't mind. She knows the pleasure I take from a luxurious warm bath. Just sink into it and relax and let my feeble mind sort of float--and I can actually sit up without wanting to puke.

Here I sit in the tub. Getting all wrinkly, like Florence when she popped out. Not too hot, not too cold. The house-elf (Inky?) knows how to get it just right. And it smells so good. Not any silly bubble bath. Some sort of healing herbs the house-elf (Thinky?) whipped up. I could stay in here forever.

Her name is Winky.

The baby flutters inside me. I hold my breath and savor the moment. It's a magic moment. It's like holding a fairy in my cupped hands.

(When did I do that? When did I ever hold a fairy?)

His movement escalates to kicking. It tickles. I giggle and kick my own legs. Take that, spare!

That's right. The tub's big enough to actually swim a few strokes. You need to regain your strength.

Slowly, oh so slowly I scoot myself from sitting in the shallow end to standing in the deep end. My swollen breasts float like balloons. I amuse myself by making them bob like buoys. There's no pressure on my poor feet at all. I'm all but weightless!

I splash about in a clumsy dog-paddle. God, what a relief from lying abed! Oh, I'm so spoiled. All the poor oppressed people Draco is trying to help would love the chance for such a vacation--but it's so boring. Everything on television is either stupid or depressing. Honestly, I did try to better myself by reading. Oh, all right, I didn't care about improving my mind. I was just desperate to pass the time. But I've never been much of a reader. The concentration required--

That's not right, Mother. You know that's not right.

"Glup!" The sound of me swallowing scented water. "Ptui!" Spitting it out. I scramble back to the shallow end and sit down and curl up into a shivering ball. I feel cold. My arms wrap around my big belly in a protective/warming gesture. I nearly scream as it sinks in: How can I protect myself from--

It's all right, Mother. Don't be afraid. I love you. It'll be all right.

I start crying. I can't help it. This isn't just scary, it's pathetic. Mothers are supposed to say that to babies. Babies aren't supposed to have to do the mothering. And this baby is still in the womb, for God's sake!

Waves of love, of reassurance. You are stronger than you know. You've been so strong for so long.

I've stopped crying, but I'm still rattled. "B-baby, what--"

Best to speak silently.

What are you talking about?!

It's time for you to remember who you are. But you don't have to do it all at once, and right now you need to see to the children you named after those most unexpected heroines.

What?

Florence and Gabriel.

I know their names!

You named them after Fleur and Gabrielle. After the late Delacour sisters.

Who?

You remember, the snooty quarter-veelas.

Oh. Yes. But I didn't even like them!

Snooty and elegant. Far too French. Far too beautiful for any normal woman's comfort, but they proved brave and true at the end.

At the... at the end?

Florence and Gabriel want to see you. They worry about you. They love you too, little hellions that they are. You can forget again, for now. We'll talk later, Mother.

Yes, my darling spare. Yes, let's talk later.