June 5, 1980
Lucius Malfoy paced along the corridor outside of his chambers, hands tightly gripped behind his back as he tried to ignore the sounds coming from behind his closed bedroom doors. His wife, Narcissa, cried out in agony, the labor pains of bringing the first Malfoy heir into the world ripping through her. A storm wailed outside, only echoing his wife's anguish.
It had been a difficult pregnancy from the start. Narcissa had had trouble conceiving, but once they finally had, the healers had recommended them to remain cautious. It became trial after trial, from bouts of morning sickness to full-body fatigue that left Narcissa bedridden for days at a time. Even on her good days, she would choose to remain close to the manor, too weak and fearing that the worst would strike if she left the protection of the grounds. Instead, she opted to walk among the gardens with Lucius or, on rare occasions, with her eldest sister, Bellatrix, by her side.
Narcissa had always insisted on maintaining a facade of strength and poise, both in the public eye, as well as when she was with her husband. Even while they were students together at Hogwarts, with him a year above her, Narcissa never made an appearance any less than perfect. Lucius was never sure if this stemmed from the responsibility of upholding the Black family legacy, or if it was her own choice to shoulder, but he never questioned her. Instead, he matched her at every turn, a pillar of strength by her side.
He had only seen his wife cry twice before: as they danced at their wedding, and once during the pregnancy. Lucius had returned home to find her collapsed beside the bed, sobs wracking her body, too weak to stand. A close friend had visited, with a newborn of their own, and Narcissa had spiraled into despair, suddenly unsure if she was fit to be a mother. Lucius had comforted her the best he could, quietly praising her as he desperately tried to quell his fears for himself, leaving the room only after she had fallen asleep nestled by his side.
Bellatrix was in the room with her now, refusing to miss the birth of her nephew. She had taken Lucius' place beside Narcissa, comforting her through the pain when it should have been him by her side. Lucius forced his clenched jaw to relax, reminding himself that while Bellatrix might have been the one to physically remove him from the room as the labor pains grew, she had only been acting under Naricssa's strict command.
Otherwise, he would have been there too.
Lucius loved his wife dearly, despite their public appearances painting the pair as stoic, icy, and much too formal with each other. To hear his wife in such soul-splitting agony hurt him nearly as much as it did her, and it was all he could do to not rip the door from its hinges, just to be by her side. Instead, he was forced to focus on pacing the same path back and forth, keeping his breathing steady.
A loud crash of thunder shook the manor and, without any warning, Narcissa's wailing ceased. Lucius froze mid-step. It was only a second, though it felt like hours to him, before the silence was replaced with the wails of a healthy baby boy. He nearly stumbled as he turned back to the door, his long cloak twisting around his legs.
My son, he thought, pride swelling in his chest. My heir.
As if she had been summoned, Bellatrix Lestrange swung the once offending door open. Lucius could barely catch a glimpse of his wife cradling their newborn before the door was firmly shut once again.
"How are they?" Lucius stared down at Bellatrix. She stared back, a thin smile playing on her lips. When she didn't answer, he stepped forward, towering over the petite woman. "Bellatrix, how is she?" My wife and my son?"
Saying it out loud made Lucius puff with another wave of pride, but the way Bellatrix refused to answer, the sly smile still playing on her face, made him feel ill. The pride was replaced with the sharp chill of fear as the possibilities flooded his mind, each new thought worse than the one before. Too quickly, Lucius' head began to swim.
"He'll want to meet him, of course."
Lucius furrowed his brow, the dark possibilities slipping as he turned to face his sister-in-law. "Who?"
She laughed at this, a sharp bark not unlike the thunder that had rocked the house before. It was gleeful, almost delirious, as she clasped her hands to her chest.
"He'll want to meet the both of them, now that they're born." Bellatrix slinked around Lucius, moving towards the rain-pelted window. At Lucius' silence, she glanced over her shoulder to meet his eye, the sly grin on her face bigger now. "Why, the Dark Lord, of course."
At the mention of their master, Lucius felt a tingle on his left forearm, almost like the start of an itch. He stepped forward to join Bellatrix at the window, peering into the darkened sky for any sign of the Dark Mark. But the sky remained as dismal as it had been moments before, the rain falling as hard as ever.
"Have you thought of mentioning to Narcissa any of this?"
"Merlin, no! But imagine how thrilled she'll be when she hears!" Bellatrix laughed, spinning away from Lucius as he took another threatening step toward her. "The reunion of the Malfoy and Rosier line has been planned for years. And now He finally has a matching set. With your son and Evan's daughter, He'll be able to usher in a new world with an entire generation at His side."
Another wail from inside the chambers made Lucius pause, a reminder that his wife was waiting. His beautiful, powerful wife, who had just brought his heir, their Draco, into the world.
A world that was destined to become better because his son was going to help shape it.
"Go to her," Bellatrix whispered, putting a hand on Lucius' arm in a rare moment of tenderness. Lucius nodded back numbly, all of his senses now focused on his awaiting wife. "I would be more than happy to deliver the good news, personally."
And then she was gone, in a sharp snap of apparition.
The future can wait, he told himself, taking a deep breath. Without anything to distract him, Lucius turned on his heel and entered his chambers.
He had a son to meet.
June 25th, 1980
In the dead of the night, two figures arrived before Malfoy Manor in a gust, a man and a woman, illuminated only by the pale moonlight that shone through the trees. The man placed his hand on the woman's lower back, steadying her as she shifted the five-month-old in her arms, cooing at the half-awake child before it could begin to wail.
Together they made their way down the gravel path, dense hedges towering on either side as they slipped through the gates and into the front gardens. A lone alabaster white peacock strutted nearby, eyeing them cooly. The manor itself was completely dark in the night, barely a silhouette against the sky. The only source of light came from a candle flickering in the downstairs window, a signal that their meeting was to proceed as planned.
As the pair approached the stately front door, it swung silently inward, as if it had sensed their arrival. Waiting just beyond stood Lucius Malfoy, his hands folded stiffly on the snakehead of his walking stick. If it were not for the inky bags under his bloodshot eyes, it would be nearly impossible to guess that he had become a father mere weeks ago - he looked as put-together as ever.
"He's waiting."
The man - Evan Rosier - nodded in acknowledgment, stepping through to the foyer, clasping Lucius' shoulder in greeting as he passed. His wife - Amalthea - followed close behind, tilting her head, keeping the small child tucker preciously to her chest.
Their meeting took place in the manor's back sitting room, tucked farthest away from any possible prying eyes. As they entered the room, three figures were already waiting: two positioned by the fireplace, and another sitting in a plush chair nearby. Without hesitation, Amalthea rushed to the plush chair, kneeling beside Narcissa, who smiled wearily at her friend, a bundled baby sound asleep in her arms.
"Rosier. An honor for you to join us."
High, clear, and cold, a voice like dragging ice across bare skin. The man in front of the fire turned, his smile, unsettling as it was, stretching taut across his face. The flickering flames cast shadows across it, distorting his features, making him harder to fully make out in the darkened room.
"My Lord." Evan Rosier dropped to a knee, his head bowed, his voice brimming with reverence.
Amalthea turned to the man as well, bowing her head, her eyes downcast - a moment of recognition, with the desire to receive none in return.
"You brought...your daughter."
It was a statement. Not a question.
"As you requested."
"Bring her." The man's voice sounded more like a hiss now. "Bring them both."
Hesitant, Amalthea looked to Narcissa for guidance. She had paled at the command, but her resolve was steeled, a tension set in her clenched jaw. Very slowly, they stood together, their shoulders brushing as they carried their children carefully closer to the fire. As if pulled by an invisible string, the men took their places beside their wives.
As the man stepped away from the fire, Amalthea found herself holding in a shriek. Despite her steadfast dedication, she had yet to see the Dark Lord in person, and it turned her blood to ice. His red eyes stared hungrily at the children, a long, bony finger reaching out to brush first Narcissa's son, then Amalthea's daughter's cheek. At the sudden, cool touch, the small girl began to whimper, and Amalthea quickly hushed her back to sleep.
"A perfect pair." He grinned, moving back to his place by the fire. "They will do well. You are aware of the plan?"
He was no longer speaking to the women, who seemed to relax the moment his focus shifted. As they moved back to their original places, the woman who had lingered beside the fire stepped forward, taking Narcissa's arm and helping to ease her back to sitting.
"Bella..." Narcissa began, but the sharp glare of her sister, paired with the sly smile she seemed to always wear, made the words dry up in her throat.
It didn't take Amalthea long to notice that where the crackling of the fire and the soft murmur of voices once was, there was now an uneasy silence in its place. The three men were speaking intently, but it was inaudible to the women, a glean cast over them to keep their conversation completely private.
"It is settled."
The Dark Lord's voice echoed in the room as the silencing charm was dispelled. He stepped forward, towards the center of the room.
"Draco...and Aurora. Such...powerful names," he mused, turning his red eyes back to focus on the women. Amalthea felt as if his eyes lingered on her a beat longer than the rest, piercing her very soul. "A dragon to usher in a new era, and a light to guide his way. The Dragon and his Dawn. How...poetic."
"Lucius." He turned sharply to the pale man beside him, whose eyes snapped up from the floor at the mention of his name. "I trust you to raise your young Draco properly."
"Evan." The blonde raised his chin proudly, unflinching under his master's unwavering gaze. "Your task remains as it has always been. Continue to serve."
"And...Amalthea."
The woman blinked, never expecting to be addressed by name. It sounded foreign in his hissing tone, and she knew she would never be able to shake it from her memory. "What of your family?"
"M-My...family?" Her mouth was suddenly dry.
"The Fawleys. They know nothing, I assume."
Amalthea shook her head immediately. "They remain as unwise as ever."
His eyes locked onto hers for a moment, staring intensely. Then, he smiled.
"Good."
Amalthea closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose, glad the worst was over.
"You are to remain with them." His tone had sharpened, making Amalthea's eyes snap open. "You have been successful thus far. Do not disappoint." He paused for another moment. "You will know what to do when the time comes."
He turned away with that, leaving Amalthea to fight back the tears that had sprung forward uninvited. She had hoped that, if this visit was a success, she would have been relieved of her double-agent duties, to stand proudly with her husband and join the fight, instead of hiding away at home, listening and reporting and wasting her days away.
But the Dark Lord's word was law. It had been decided, and therefore, it shall be done.
"Lucius. Evan. If you'd please."
The Dark Lord drew his wand as the two men moved to join him, standing on either side and clasping their right hands, silhouetted by the fire. Evan stood with a prideful grin, Lucius with a small glance to his wife, who gave a hesitant, but firm nod. The Dark Lord placed the tip of his wand onto their linked hands, a thin streak of flame wrapping around their hands and up their arms as he spoke.
"Do you, Lucius Malfoy, Evan Rosier, swear to raise your children under my orders, preparing them to fulfill the orders of the Dark Lord when the time is right?"
"I will," they chimed in unison.
"And will you bring them to me when they are called upon?"
"I will."
"And will you sacrifice yourself and your family to ensure that their futures remain unblemished?"
"I will."
"I...will."
The hesitation came from Lucius who, swallowing thickly, refused to look at his wife, who had gone as still as stone beside Amalthea.
"It has been sealed. Once they are of age, your children will help to usher in the next generation."
And with that, the Dark Lord apparated away. Bellatrix followed quickly behind, leaving only a gust of air in her wake.
There was a heavy silence like all the air had been sucked out of the room as the weight of their decision settled.
"Like mere pawns," Narcissa mumbled, quiet enough that even Amalthea, still at her side, was unsure if she had even spoken. Then, she turned to Lucius, her face paler than usual. "I must be off. Lucius, would you please?"
He was at her side in an instant, his arm looped around her waist as she shifted the baby in her arms. The bundle had barely made a sound all night, still sleeping soundly, unlike the girl in Amalthea's arms, who was beginning to fuss in her blankets. Matching Lucius, Evan stepped to Amalthea, a hand on the small of her back, less for comfort, and more as a guiding gesture to leave the room.
Before either couple could ove to depart, Amalthea stepped out of her husband's reach. There was something on Narcissa's face that unsettled her.
"You'll care for her, won't you? If something happens."
Narcissa's mouth pursed, her eyes refusing to meet Amalthea's. "Nothing will hap-"
"I can't ask my family, they're nothing to me now. Please, Narcissa." Amalthea was desperate, nearly choking to get the words out. She reached to take Narcissa's thin wrist, the baby in her arms beginning to whine more, but Amalthea was determined to be heard.
Narcissa exhaled before nodding. "Yes. I...I will be the godmother. Of course, if that is what you wish."
Amalthea let out a breath. "Yes. Yes, please. Her godmother." The words felt like a relief she didn't realize she needed. "And I will do the same for Draco, whatever you may need."
Narcissa smiled softly, shifting back as her wrist was released. "We will..." She glanced at Lucius, who remained stoic. "Will keep that in mind, sweet. Thank you."
"Come, my love," Evan cooed, guiding her out of the room with a curt no to Lucius. His hand, planted more firmly on her lower back, still glowed red as the unbreakable vow marks faded into faint scars.
Amalthea allowed herself to be guided, head held high. But once the pair exited into the crisp night air, the Manor's doors shut firmly behind them by a meek house elf, Amalthea sagged onto her husband.
"Why did it have to be this way?" She was near tears, but she refused to let them fall. She bounced the baby in her arms, waiting for her husband to answer. And when he didn't, she looked up to see him staring cooly back at her. "Why can't I be with you? Like we promised we would be?"
Evan kissed his wife's forehead before they apparated away.
"Sometimes sacrifices must be made."