p r o t e g o
{ the shaping of a
helpless joy}


"Cissy."

In the protected ward, protegos all around, Narcissa sat up, her blond hair falling around her shoulders, touching her cheeks as it spilled downwards. Her gaze, sparkling - he realized with a sudden jolt - as happily as it had on the day of their wedding, met his gray one, and she held up both arms, cradling the baby boy.

Delighted. Narcissa Malfoy looked delighted.

"I'm so happy," she said, sounding it.

She need not have said that. Need not, because he could have told that just by looking at her, at the sparkle in her eyes - and that, he thought, was saying something. Narcissa? Elegant, proud and, most of all, an expert at keeping her emotions in check. She did not let on hurt or grief, and she rarely let on happiness. And that, more than anything else, caused his gaze to soften.

"I love you." He laid down the bouquet, gorgeous red roses, each twice the size of a normal rose, the scent strong and beautiful and sweet. Then he leaned forward, kissed her, and sat down, his gaze coming to a rest on the little bundle she held, as if holding a treasure.

"Draco," he said, decisively.


Song credit: Saxon Shore. <3