Venom & Virtue

EPILOGUE II

Lysander Malfoy was born on a mild afternoon in March, three days after the due date we'd been expecting.

Upon arrival, the small bundle possessed a tuft of dark raven hair to match my own, but a familiar steely grey set of eyes that were so uncanny, they made a breath catch in my throat as I held him.

Draco had sat in the garden for an hour after he was born, rooting himself into the grass as he always did when needing to think.

And I'd let him, because even without words, I understood completely; the arrival of a son, an heir to the Malfoy name, was a terrible burden to the brooding wizard.

So, for one hour I allowed him to sit there, absorbed in his fears and dread about the repetition of history, concerned about how to be a better father than his own had been.

But once the time was up, I'd implored Violetta to coax him inside, insisting that wallowing in the doubt forever wouldn't do him any good.

He'd proceeded to edge into the room as if I were holding a bomb, eyeing the swaddle of blanket with intense scrutiny, uncertain.

It had taken another two minutes for him to approach closer, his hands shaking as he accepted the child from me, a glint of disbelief running across his handsome features.

He'd simply stared for a while, taking in the sight before him with a mix of terror and awe in his expression, his body frozen and tense.

It was only once Lysander opened his sleepy eyes, blinking lazily, that Draco relaxed, his mouth parting in shock at the angelic portrait before him.

He'd remarked only one thing, his voice breathless and light.

"He has my eyes."

And I knew then that he would be okay, that his centre of gravity had shifted in some way, focused upon our son in the cradle of his arms.

When Azalea arrived two years later, it was an entirely different scenario.

He'd basically ripped her from the midwife's hands, desperately eager to lay eyes on his daughter.

An immediate elation took over his face as he appraised her; ice blonde hair, green eyes, tiny fingers that clasped around his own.

She'd practically never left his side from that day on, the two of them attached at the hip, mirrors of one another.

Sometimes, her face would twist into such a familiar look of stoic defiance, that I'd had to double take, my eyes flitting between them in disbelief.

When he wasn't busy play fighting with Lysander in the garden, he'd be preoccupied with wrangling Azalea's curled hair, determined not to use a wand as his fingers fumbled to plait intricate patterns into the strands.

He always made sure to let her point to the bows and clips she wanted to wear that day, attaching them into her blonde locks despite the questionable styling he'd accomplished.

It was a heart-warming sight to watch the three of them as time passed, and with each new memory, there came a new photo, the collection around our house growing every year.

Lysander and Draco having a snowball fight, Azalea tucked into bed as he read to her, Lysander hooked around his father's back just as Teddy had been years before, Azalea tottering around in his dress shoes whilst he ran after her.

It was the purest happiness we'd ever felt, each day bringing a new joy as we watched the miniature versions of ourselves grow up.

And our loved ones shared in it too, particularly Dobby and Holley, who's own arrival, Lopsy, made a perfect addition to our family of six; the children taking turns to hold the little elf with delicate maturity.