My Bad Faith

The hollow wail filled the corridor, echoing restlessly against the stone walls, ricocheting into the study- drumming at my ears. The instant I heard it, I was confused. Never had such a mournful sound been present in my mansion. Neither ghost nor ghoul could produce such pure sorrow- so full of emotion, yet so unattached. Wholly distracted, I put down my quill and sought out the sound.

There was no beginning- there was no end. It was a fathomless expanse of sadness in every direction. I stood in the corridor, listening for a mere moment, when I understood. A wail so familiar, yet so forgotten through many years. A soft, almost non-existent cry of frustration and hopelessness- a cry that echoed so thickly that it seemed to be hundreds times louder than reality.

I immediately sought out my wife.

The master bathroom was a circular room with mirrors along a whole quarter of the room. The necessary toiletry items were placed against the wall, while the bathing basin sat as the centre point of the area. The bath area was a sunken bowl in the middle of a small pyramid made of four marble steps. At the present moment, the basin was filled to the brim with large, airy bubbles, where in my wife sat, weeping. Bubbles were pink at her shoulders and belly, and other places where her skin came too near the surface. She lifted a sudsy hand to wipe tears from her cheeks, streaking foam in its wake. I stood in the open doorway, shoulders pressed against the frame, watching her struggle as she lifted a delicate foot from the suds.

Her leg, long and slender, stuck out from the masses of bubbles. Her delicate hand reached out with a soapy sponge. She was graceful, leaning as a ballerina stretching for her foot. The ligaments in her arms drew taught and she reached, reached, reached- and slipped back into the water. I watched the tears well in her eyes as she went to wash her foot, but the obtrusion that was her belly forbade it.

There was an odd stirring in my gut as I watched her. Without hesitation, I began walking towards her, my shoes clacking against the stone floor. Narcissa looked up briefly, her sobbing stopped, and sank all appendages into the water, looking down, as though ashamed. I slowly circled her, walking around the pyramidal bathtub, in silence. I slipped off my cloak, leaving it as a heap of black velvet on the floor, and pulled my satin sleeves to my elbows. The quiet click clack of my buckle tops and the gentle tss of bath bubbles were the only sounds in the room as I stepped up the pyramid to the tub.

I plucked the bathing sponge from the water, suds dribbling down my forearm, and squeezed it. My wife’s small foot was milky white and supple in my hand as I brought the sponge to her tender heel. Dragging it upwards, her toes squirmed reflexively. I leaned forward, watching her clear blue eyes brim with tears and admiration, as I brought each tiny appendage that was her toes, and kiss them tenderly. Slowly dipping her foot back into the water, I replaced it for the other, repeating the gentle affections as with the previous foot.

She sniffed and I looked up, watching silent tears trickle down her cheeks, bright red from the heat of the bath. Her thin, blood red lips tucked back into a simple smile, inviting me forward. “Come here, you.” Her slender hand, dripping with foam and water, reached out of the tub and took a fast hold of my garments, drawing me forward.

Our lips connected, drawn by a lost passion. We sat, locked together, my arms on either rim of the basin to hold me up. Sight and sound drifted away. I could never recall a time before when we had ever kissed as we did at the moment. Her wet thumb traced my jaw line, drawing her fingers into my hair, while the other hand rounded itself around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and—

POP! With a loud splash and a gush of bath water across the bathroom floor, I fell in, beside my wife. I cried out in surprise, my expensive garments thoroughly soaked, and cramping my wife in the not-nearly-large-enough tub. My wife choked out a scream as I wiped stinging suds from my eyes. “Dobby!”

I turned myself about in the tub, so as to get to an angle where I could properly glare at him. “Your excuse had better be deliciously exquisite, or your head shall me mounted as a doorknocker,” I barked throatily at him.

Of course the miserable creature didn’t have a good excuse. He shrank back into his very skin, trembling with fear. “Dobby… Dobby is sorry, he is… Dobby is sent to call Master for supper, and he…” He yelped as a water-filled sponge walloped him in the face. Dobby’s misshapen frame bent in half as he bowed his apologies and crept backwards out the room.

I was quite literally fuming, beside myself with fury that such a thing could happen, until my wife placed a warm hand on my face. She wasn’t seething, as I had been, but was, well, smiling. Confused, I lifted a brow, to which she split herself with laughter, resting her head on my soaking shoulder, and laughing. I struggled to keep from smiling myself, but I am not sure whether or not I was able to succeed.

As I helped her out of the bath, she paused, a mixed expression on her face. “What?”

Narcissa blinked a few times. “I don’t… it’s probably nothing. I just feel… different.” Her naked body gleamed from the water, and I could tell that she trembled slightly.

“Do you need— what?” I followed her sudden gaze, realising that the Dark Mark was gradually appearing on my bare forearm. I looked back into her eyes, sensing slight fear and trepidation. The skull and snake began to burn faintly on my flesh. “Are you well enough to travel, Narcissa?”

My wife’s lips pulled taut, as if to speak. She caught my eyes and there we stood for nearly a full minute before she nodded.

We dried ourselves and dressed in a hurry. It took a few moments longer than it should have, because I was unable to clasp the hook and eyes of my wife’s garment. She was simply too large for her normal robes. A few incidental changes were made to the clothing and it fit well. Her silver cloak hung from her shoulders, tracing the ground as she walked like beams of crystal moonlight. I felt that she, in her fine robes of black satin which were trimmed with tiny gems, was the absolute image of what a wife of a wealthy Death Eater should look like. She was… She was perfection. My wife was what other’s should desire to have… to be. I was nearly envious of her beauty and grace, but I knew that was a foolish thing, for she, after all, was mine. Snapping me out of my stupor, my wife placed her hand in the crook of my arm, placidly staring up at me. With a deep breath, she nodded, and we Apparated to the designated location.

The warm summer heat filled the air with a thick mugginess that one practically had to swim through. The light of a large camping fire cast elongated shadows of the black cloaked figures surrounding it against the pale green earth. My wife clutched my arm more fearfully with each silent step we took on the wilting grass towards the group. I could hear her breath shakily rattling in my ear. I gave her hand a small squeeze and she was silent again.

Heads turned, watching us approach. Though I could not see them, I knew eyes were on us. I could feel jealousy simply radiating off them, and I relished in it. Narcissa’s breath became more erratic and no amount of squeezing her hand could calm her. “Lucius— I think I need to sit.”

“Nonsense. You’ll be fine,” I whispered, not turning my head towards her.

“I think it’s the baby.” Her words faltered as they stumbled out of her mouth. I looked at her suddenly, sizing up her facial expression. “He’s not due until August.” I frowned. “Surely it’s something else. We’ll owl the mediwizard as soon as we return to the mansion.” She inhaled deeply and lifted her head. “Now come along.” We joined the circle, standing with others in silence.

The stillness was broken was the snapping of a twig some ten metres into the dense foliage of the forest. Narcissa gave a small gasp and lurched forward which I tried to ignore. My Lord emerged, a small smile twisted on his lips as though bound by a length of twine. His slender face turned towards each individual, giving the slightest nod as an indication of his recognizing them, until he faced Narcissa. My Lord’s eyes flashed briefly with something odd before closing the distance between him and I.

I bowed myself to the ground, taking the hem of his robe to my lips and kissing it. I could feel Narcissa beside me, bowing to the best of her ability. She shook as she righted herself, though I stayed in the dirt.

“Forgive me, your Lordship, but I-“

“Think nothing of it.” My Lord’s voice was like syrup, sticking to everything it could reach. “Rise, Lucius.” I obeyed. “Your wife is very beautiful.”

I bowed my head. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“And a child soon on his way? What is his name?”

“Cadmus, my Lord.”

“Sounds like food.” He reached out and placed his hand on my wife’s protuberant belly. My wife panted quietly, her eyes closed. My Lord leaned forward, studying her face. “Do I frighten you, Narcissa Malfoy?”

“Ah!” she whined as her face contorted in discomfort. “Yes, my Lord, but— Ah! I need to sit down.” She reached for my arm, clutching it. “Lucius, I need the mediwizard.”

Surprised that she had directed me when my Lord had asked her a question, I looked to his Lordship as what to do next. He merely stared at my wife for a moment longer, as strange, almost wild look in his eyes, and then nodded at me. “Lay her down on your cloak.”

Confused, I tore off my cloak, blanketed the ground with it, then took her firmly by the elbows and guided her to the ground. She let out a long hiss of air as she bent her knees and allowed me to help her down. “Bellatrix, come here,” my Master commanded. They spoke briefly before my sister-in-law approached my wife.

“Narcissa,” the Lestrange woman cooed in a soothing voice I had never before heard escape her lips. It was too sweet, too artificial; she was helping her Dark Lord only, not her sister. “You’re going to have a baby, and—“

“What? You mean right now? Not here! It’s too soon!” My wife glanced up at me in panic, but I could not think of anything to say to her. Her face began to gleam with pinpricks of perspiration.

“Yes,” her sister said sternly. “Now.” Bellatrix sat, with her feet tucked under her thighs. She folded up her cloak and placed it on her lap, making a pillow on which Narcissa rested her head. I looked about for my Master, who was speaking animatedly to Snape. Snape departed into the evening’s darkness and my Lord returned his attention to my wife.

“Narcissa, you’re going to have to listen very carefully.” Lord Voldemort slipped off his robe and handed it to Pettigrew, who coddled it like an infant with grubby hands. He pulled up his sleeves and knelt in front of her. “I’m going to deliver the child.”

“No! No!” Panicked, my wife tried to get up. She immediately was pulled back down by her sister. “No!” Although I was extremely struck by the complete absurdity of his suggestion, I was even more appalled at her brash statement, but stopped myself from scolding her when I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t enjoy my Lord’s hands in my knickers, either.

I glanced worriedly at my Lord, frightened that she angered him in her ignorance. His face was expressionless, save for his eyes where a sliver of temper was gleaming through. “Narcissa.” My wife relaxed at my voice and turned to me. “Stay calm. There’s nothing to worry about.” I did not, in fact, know if it was true, but I had to say something, more for the fact that I feared the wrath of my Master than of concern for my wife’s comfort. I took her hand, nonetheless, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

It was ridiculous the very thought my Lord and Master stooping to perform such a lowly act as to deliver a baby. An act of such a thing on my Lord’s part was not an act of humility, but I knew better than to question my Lord’s motives for anything. Though that didn’t stop me from being apprehensive.

My Master took my wife’s ankles, pushing her legs back until her knees were bent enough to give him access. He pulled her robe back so that no more than an inch hung over her knee caps. My Lord reached his hands under her clothing and ripped at her under garments until they were completely removed. My wife’s breath became more rigid. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her grip on my hand became as tight as ever.

Voldemort bent his head under my wife’s robes and I felt a pang of jealousy. Of hatred. No man should be able to see what is rightfully mine. No man should be allowed to touch what is mine. No man should— but I suppressed my feelings and watched him numbly as he raised his head.

“Narcissa, I’m going to put my hands in here and I want you to push, do you understand?”

She nodded uncomfortably. When he placed his hands upon her, her body convulsed and writhed under his touched. My wife began screaming. At first I was unable to discern the words from her mouth, but soon I understood her shrieks of, “It burns! It burns! Help me, it burns!”

“Where’s Snape?” my Lord said coolly. Snape, not a moment later, came running from the forest.

“I have the vegetation, my Lord. Shall I?” Snape panted, tufts of green and bits of bark protruding from his fisted hands. With a nod of consent, Snape knelt beside me. He stuffed the green into his mouth and chewed. “Gimye er hen, Milfee.”

“What?”

“Gimye er hen!” He took one of my hands and turned it palm up. Snape’s eyes screwed up before he spit a mess of soggy leaves bits and saliva into my hand. I was so surprised that I didn’t react. He wrinkled his hooked, sallow nose at the taste as he crushed small twigs into fine slivers on top of the green mess in my hand. Snape nodded at me. “Get her to eat that— it’ll dull the pain immensely.” I wanted to vomit. I had a fist full of Snape spit that I was to feed to my wife. Disgusting. Utterly, irrevocably disgusting. I fed it to her, pinch by pinch, as my Lord gave her instructions to push.

It seemed an eternity as the strangled cooings of Bellatrix and the huffs of my wife merged into a single sound that rocked like a ship at dock. My Master was also breathing deeply. “The shoulders are out, Narcissa, just a few— Get out of my light!”

It wasn’t until I looked up to see Pettigrew step to the side to allow the light of the campfire through that I realised the others had formed a silent ring about us, as though this event was somehow monumental. As though my son’s birth was important to them.

“Once more, Narcissa. Push with all of your might,” my Lord said austerely. My wife’s back hunched forward, her face a deep shade of red, as she gave her final push. The herbs Snape had given her seemed to help. She didn’t look as though she was in any pain. Perhaps a bit of discomfort, but not pain.

“Ohh,” she moaned, falling back into her sister’s lap, who whispered not even a word of congratulations.

I watched as Voldemort held my only child in his arms, wrapping the babe in his own cloak. Voldemort ran a long finger along the tender bottom of the babe’s foot, causing a squirm and small cry from the child. I knew I wasn’t smiling as my Master handed me the baby. My baby. I was too curious and amazed to smile. Of all my many years alive, it was my first experience at wondering the absolute miracle that was birth. It was… magic.

Voldemort wiped his hands on Pettigrew’s robes, who fought to keep a straight face and failed, before touching my shoulder. “Rastaban is bright tonight.”

I looked to the sky. A bright orange star caught my attention. “Gamma Draco, my Lord?” I was vaguely aware of Pettigrew being sick beside the fire.

His fathomless eyes captivated me. “It is great fortune to name a child after the star he was born under.” I looked down at my premature son, pale and thin. He looked as though he could use all the fortune he could get.

“Draco, then. Draco Malfoy.” I held Draco, listening to his quiet mewling as my Lord removed the rest of the umbilical cord and placenta, which he wrapped in a large handkerchief and tucked away. My wife sat up wearily, and reached greedily for my son. I slipped him into her arms and she began to cry. Save for her happy sobs, the ring was silent.

“Lucius.”

I turned my attention to my Lord. “Yes?”

“Give your child to me when he comes of age and you shall be made my second in command.” He glanced briefly at my wife, who seemed not to notice us talking. “I believe that such an exchange would be sufficient enough to replace your wife’s becoming a Death Eater.”

I bowed my head. “Yes, my Lord. I would be honoured.”