Save Yourself

I've always had it easy as the son of Lucius Malfoy; I'm not afraid to admit that, to make my accomplishments perhaps diminish in certain eyes. My name has given me more privileges than my own achievements have, but not even the legendary Malfoy heritage could prepare me for what was coming.

It was Christmas night, and she and I could see the snow falling down onto the grounds through the windows, soft and majestic in the light of the moon. For any other newlyweds, the night would have been perfect to finalize their vows, their bonds, their love; for the two—the three—of us, however, it was a night of simply reflection.

She was devastated by the loss of her freedoms; I was ecstatic for the life, the promise, the possibilities she held within her womb. Even though he was only a few months in the making—she and I had calculated it to almost the exact week, over two months ago—I already felt the bond I was sure would stay with me for the rest of my life and perhaps beyond.

For a Malfoy, family always came first—no matter what the circumstances. Lucius Malfoy was known as cruel, vicious, and ambitious to a fault in the public eye; I, however, knew a great man worthy of so many things I could never say. He taught me things only a father could teach a son, told me the secrets I would need in order to live a life worth living—one of those lessons was to never abandon family, to always remain loyal, even if love wasn't a factor. My mother was never happy with her marriage—arranged, of course—to my father, but in spite of their differences, she stood by him through thick and thin. She was a strong woman, although not the strongest I've known.

The strongest was lying next to me, her dark eyes rimmed with red and her hand set over my heart. She had been through so much in the past few months, I didn't believe even she knew the amount of trauma inflicted on her soul. No longer did she have the home she grew up in, the family she loved, although hated during the appropriate moments; the fire in her eyes had died out for far too long after her father—her murderous, traitorous father—had destroyed the only life she knew. It was a miracle that the fire within her had returned, albeit painfully slow.

So many students had been caught up in their own side of the war between the wizards that they failed to see the pain within the loved ones their victims had left behind. If Albus Dumbledore—if Arthur Weasley—if Harry Potter could see the pain that flowed through my wife's body… If Voldemort—if my father—if her father could only feel the sorrow, the grief, and the guilt of surviving… perhaps there would be no war. Perhaps they would realize the world is not comprised of black and white, rather shades of gray we all sift through day after day.

As I lay there that night, my wife curled up next to me with tears leaking down her pale cheeks, her hand over my heart as it beat, supplying life to the rest of my body, I knew I would never give my life up for anything—not power, not fame, nothing. Our three hearts beat together as we lay there, she and I both tangled in the emotions and dreams of what was to come.

I knew telling my parents of our son would be difficult at first, but they would soon accept and perhaps even welcome the thought. Age was of no matter in the Malfoy Manor; my own mother was a mere sixteen years older than me, something I knew she regretted—although not fully—every day. She had never had the opportunity to become a fully licensed witch, and unbeknownst to my wife, Mother would never let her go through the same fate she experienced. She wasn't even thirty-five years old, against my father's forty-six, and would gladly take up responsibility for another child, one in which she would be better equipped and experienced to take care of.

I knew my wife would, when the time came, forgive the actions of my past. It took me four years to finally realize exactly how much I loved her, and the moment she loved me back, she held my love, my faith, and my soul in her hand. I was hers and she was mine; it was never and would never be any different.

”I love you,” I whispered softly, running one smooth finger down her cheek and across her lips. She simply looked up at me, her eyes filled with so many emotions I couldn't even detect one. “Never forget that.”

”I promise I won't.” Her voice was choked and strained, yet I knew her words to be sincere. “I love you as well, no matter what happens.”

”I know,” I sighed, kissing her forehead gently. She finally closed her eyes and curled up against me, and with a heavy sigh, slipped into the world of dreams, the one place I knew could make her truly happy.

She was my life; my world; my heart; my soul; my destiny. I would never forget that.

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