Chapter Text
The private parlour on the manor's third floor had always been their refuge, and never more so than in winter. Narcissa had transformed it into a cocoon of warmth -thick rugs, charmed fire, heavy curtains- a place where the three of them could escape the demands of the world outside. Lucius sat in his customary wingback chair, watching his wife cradle their son against her shoulder. Draco had finally stopped fussing, his tiny fist curled against Narcissa's collarbone, his breathing evening into the rhythm of sleep.
The fire in the hearth created amber shadows across her pale face, softening the worry lines that had appeared ever since Draco's crying fit this evening. Their son had been in tears and screaming for hours now, and he only calmed down a few minutes ago.
"He is asleep." Narcissa's voice was a whisper, barely audible over the crackling flames. She and Lucius had tried everything to calm their son, yet nothing had worked until now.
"Finally." Lucius rose, moving to her side. He reached out, letting one finger trace the curve of Draco's impossibly small hand. Their son's skin was translucent, veined with blue, and Lucius felt that familiar tightening in his chest—equal parts wonder and terror at something so fragile depending entirely on him.
A soft knock interrupted the moment. Lucius turned his head to look at the closed door as if it had offended him, and called for the person to enter.
Ophélia opened the door, walking silently, a silver tray filled with small sandwiches, fruits and teacups levitating behind her. She moved with practised grace, a shawl draped over her shoulders, her long blond hair falling over it, a few strands of silver in it.
"I thought I heard the dragon finally settle," her French accent sounding like a melody as she spoke. Behind her, Abraxas filled the doorway, his presence commanding even in repose. Ophélia quietly levitated the silver tray down on the coffee table.
"Mother." Lucius inclined his head. "Father."
Abraxas's weathered face softened as his gaze fell on his sleeping grandson. "May I?"
Narcissa carefully transferred Draco to his grandfather's arms.
"He has your chin," Ophélia observed, settling beside Narcissa on the settee, offering her a teacup. "Drink, dear, you must be parched."
"Do I not get to be offered a teacup too, Mother?" Lucius's voice was playful. Ophélia barely looked at him as she shook her head, a smile at the corner of her lips. Her gaze settled on Narcissa, ensuring she drank her tea.
"He has your chin. And your lips," Ophélia observed. "Thought his nose is all Lucius's. And mine."
"He certainly inherited the Black's lungs," Narcissa replied, exhaustion and affection mingling in her tone. "Three hours of crying tonight before he would settle."
Ophélia reached over, squeezing Narcissa's hand. "Lucius was the same. Worse, perhaps. There were nights when I thought I might go crazy, crying myself into insanity as I could not figure out what was wrong with my baby."
"You never told me that," Lucius said, surprised.
His mother's smile was knowing. "There are many things mothers do nott tell their sons. Not until they become fathers themselves and understand." She then turned her head toward Abraxas, who had been silent since then, holding a sleeping Draco.
"Do you remember," Ophélia said softly, "when Lucius was this small? How terrified we were?"
"I was terrified," Abraxas corrected. "You were magnificent."
"I was terrified, too. I hid it better."
Narcissa chuckled, the sound like bells. "That is a skill I am still learning."
"You are doing beautifully," Ophélia assured her. "Both of you are."
Draco stirred, making a slight sound of contentment in his grandfather's arms, and four pairs of eyes turned toward him, watching over the newest Malfoy heir as the snow continued its silent fall outside.