Fathers. Husbands. Lovers. Sons.

Fathers. Husbands. Lovers. Sons.

Forewarned is Forearmed:

This is the prologue to a story which will take place 10 years after Draco and Ginny graduate from Hogwarts. Since the prologue doesn’t give away much of the plot, I will give you the cliff notes before you decide to read. Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley have been married for six years, and Ginny is eager to start a family. Draco insists that he can’t- though whether the problem is physical or emotional remains to be seen. When his father, Lucius Malfoy, is released from prison, things only get more complicated.

This story will be mostly Draco and Ginny, but will be at least 30% Lucius/Narcissa.

Prologue

Narcissa writes:

It seems oddthat I remember so little about the night that you were born. There are fragments of memories—a storm howling outside the window, Lucius’s footsteps in the hall, the tight sinking feeling before the pains would come -- but these are faint and blurred. For nine months, time had stretched itself long and thin, like a rubber band pulled taut. Your birth marked its release. All the moments that I wanted to box up and treasure slipped past before they could be caught. Perhaps I was simply too overwhelmed by sensation and emotion to impress those moments on my mind, but now, years later, it is as if they existed only in a dream, and that real life could only be reckoned before and after your birth.

I knew you before you were born- perhaps even before I knew that you were on your way- because you whispered in a quiet voice that only I could hear. You had a voice that spoke in feelings instead of words. It was sometimes a scolding voice- chiding me for skirted corners and hasty choices. It was often a wise voice, counseling caution and restraint. My grandmother would have said that you had an old soul- a soul that knew much of longing and suffering even before our will dragged you back to this world. Most of all it was a hopeful voice: resonant with all the echoes of dreams I held for your life.

For nine short months, we were inseparable. For nine short months there was no danger that you could face alone. For nine short months you belonged wholly to me.

You slipped quietly into the world, without a single tear or wail to pierce the silence. You merely widened your silvery eyes and observed the bustle surrounding you, as if you were already calculating your place within the fray. They laid you in my arms-- the cord that tethered you to my womb still pumping life between us-- and I stared into your features, searching for recognition. It was weeks before your tiny eyes should focus, but they did. For one fleeting moment they fixed on me, and in that heartbeat, I understood what it meant to love.

Love. It was deeper than what I felt for my parents and sisters ( an affection of convenience that I had mostly discarded upon my marriage and removal from home). It was purer than what I felt for Lucius- which at its best was never without reservations, and at its worst was distilled purely to lust. In that instant, we were perfect: still bonded, still one. I had never failed you, and smiling down at your perfect face, I swore that I never would.

It was only moments before your father arrived, striding into the room, his chin lofted and shoulders raised. The aura of his power radiated around him, filling the room, and quelling any protest that the midwife might have made for his sudden entry. His face was beaming as he leaned over the bed, counting your toes and rapturing over the slate gray eyes and moonlight hair that were such a perfect mimic of his own. He was considerate to me, as he always was, kissing my forehead and inquiring after my condition, but his gaze never left your face. He hesitated for a moment, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. Then, without thinking, and certainly without intending the pain that he caused, Lucius plucked you from my arms, cradling you against his chest in the awkward but ardent manner of a man who has little use for children, but takes infinite pleasure in his own child.

As you lifted from my embrace, I felt you move away in spirit as well as flesh. You were already becoming his, and I felt the lack of you press like a weight against my chest. I was suddenly empty. Forgotten. Used. I wasn’t ready to let you go.

Never before had I sensed so sharply the dangers of the world, or sensed so keenly the sorrows crouching in wait.

“He’s perfect.”

Lucius’s low drawl drew me back to the present, and I was surprised to see that the ecstasy in his features had dimmed. “So helpless…” he murmured under his breath, and I recognized at last what I had seen.

Though he would never confess a weakness, I knew that your father felt it too- the awe-inspiring sensation of standing on a brink, seeing your life spread before us like a road stretched toward the horizon. It trod beside ours for a ways, but then moved beyond where we could see or follow.

For all his life Lucius Malfoy had been struggling toward perfection- determined to be a God, or as close as this Earth and his body would allow. Holding you, he cradled, at last, the purest expression of the power that he craved. You were his creation, something he could built in his own image, and destroy as quickly as it was made.

Your father wanted so much for you Draco: Power, Ambition, Respect…

I wanted you to be happy.

We failed.

TO BE CONTINUED…