So Lucky

PART TWO: HELL FREEZES OVER

Winky has me out of the bath, dried off, robed and abed before I know it. My mind is full to overflowing. "Winky--"

Winky was behind me, gently combing my rat's nest into a neat braid (I'd keep her on if that were all she could do, painlessly make my hair behave), but now she's in front of me and her enormous brown eyes fill my sight. She fixes me with an almost reproving look. "Winky is very glad Missus is feeling better now," she whispers, "and is remembering Winky's name now, but Missus must not say Winky's name now." One of those tennis-ball-sized eyes winks, and her voice drops even lower. "Not yet."

"Okay," I whisper back. Somehow I feel guilty. Guilty of conspiring with a house-elf to hide... what?

But I forget my guilt as I hear the children approaching in the hall, footfalls muffled by thick carpet, and then they burst in. Actually, one child bursts in. The heir. The girl (never mind, we'll try again) speed-walks behind him, close on his heels. Her set face says she would never move in so undignified a style if she didn't have to keep up with her stupid little brother. She grabs the bib of his sailor suit and he stops, unresisting, though his merry little face clouds and he dances in anger. Then he remembers his role and composes himself. He stands still and straight and chirps "How are you, Mummy?"

My head feels light. Winky puts her strong skinny arms around me, propping me up. I look at my children and see them but don't see them. I see their newborn faces. Florence, crinkled and loudly indignant over the ordeal I'd just put her through. Gabriel, a fat placid cherub. They had the Malfoy coloring, although my fresh blood

("Mudblood!")

seems to have put roses in their cheeks and rust in their hair.

My children. They're not all Draco's. They're as much mine as they are his. Where have I been all this time?

Florence's eyes are wary. She seems to be thinking hard and fast. A stout Julie Andrews lookalike steps in from the hall, filling the doorway. (Halt, who goes there? Friend or foe?) She places a hand on Florence's shoulder. This seems to be a cue: "I hope you are feeling better, Mummy." Florence's voice is--modulated. Melodic. Music to my ears.

"Mummy is feeling much better!" squeaks Winky with witless enthusiasm. I stare at her. Gone is the sharp co-conspirator; a cheerful dope of an elf now occupies the foot of my bed. But she must have Nanny's trust, because at a small hand signal from Winky, Nanny nods and tells me, "I'll be back in ten minutes, Lady Malfoy."

("Don't call me that!")

I take a deep breath to chase away the ghosts. To loosen the tightness in my chest. I manage a shaky smile and open my arms to my children. "Give Mummy a hug. I'm up for it!" My enthusiasm sounds forced.

Gabriel hurtles at the bed, flinging himself onto it and crawling its length like a crab. Florence hangs back, suspicion creeping around the edges of her face. Working hard to keep that face neutral. What is it, darling? What's wrong?

I almost feel, almost hear, a click in my mind, like a cog that's been out of sync slipping back into place. Small random facts and clues and hints dance about and assemble into a pattern. It's frightening. It's wonderful. It's terrible. Like magic. Arms full of a hug-mad Little Lord Malfoy, I look at my firstborn as if I've never seen her before. Florence Malfoy, age six and a half. Sharp as a straight-edged razor. Knows perfectly well the only time Draco spares her a thought is during photo-ops. She looks like Lucius, which doesn't help things with her father.

(Or with m--)

I look down at my son's blonde head. Ash-blonde with a hint of auburn. His face is buried in my chest. He croons something about Winnie-the-Pooh being eaten by dragons. I sketch his face in my mind. I think he looks like me. Gabriel Malfoy, just turned three and master of all he surveys. Draco veers between spoiling him rotten and--and--

--and why am I thinking these--dreadful, devious, disloyal things about my husband?

I look to Florence. Fumble for a safe topic of conversation with this stone-faced six-year-old. "Did you learn anything today, Florence?"

"Yes, Mummy." She doesn't care to pursue the topic. She learns a great many things every day, most of which are not pleasant. "So you can sit up without feeling nauseous?"

That's right! Winky is no longer propping me up. I hadn't even noticed. My little girl doesn't miss a thing. I feel a surge of pride in her, and free an arm from Gabriel's tenacious grasp. "If you hug me, I promise not to puke on you."

Florence raises one eyebrow, Lucius-style, and a small thrill of old fear dims my pride. But she takes my promise for a command. She cautiously alights the bed with a grace she certainly did not inherit from me and delivers a dutiful embrace.

"That's my girl." I remember having said that so many times in the past. So many times, and it had never meant a damned thing. She's already released me and sits at my side, smiling. A small for-the-cameras smile. It seems to hurt her face. Her hair is straighter and paler than Gabriel's. I long to smoothe it down, but she's ready to take flight. "That's my girl... you know, from this angle, you look like my mother."

Florence's eyes widen fractionally. She inhales a small breath, as if daring to hope for... for what? "I've never seen a picture." Her voice remains carefully controlled.

"I'll have to find one." I'll never find one. "Your eyes are like hers." Shaped like hers. Like Mother's. Middling blue, not pale grey. Everything else is Lucius, oh God--

"Missus is getting tired," Winky interjects. She puts on a sappy voice for the children: "Mummy swam a little today! Getting better, getting exercise!"

Florence morphs back into Mini-Lucius. "Very good, elf." She even sounds like him. Cold, dismissive. I shiver. I half expect Florence to whip out a snake-headed pimp cane and clout Winky with it.

Winky pats my belly, catching my eye with a reassuring look. "Baby is fine too."

Florence has no interest in another little brother. One is more than enough, thank you very much. She scoots almost hastily off the bed and assumes the chin-up spine-straight glare-of-command pose. I can't help but admire her technique. "Goodness, Florence. You look like a soldier awaiting orders." She cranks up the glare another notch, and for some reason I laugh. She's not Lucius. She's a little girl. She's just a six-year-old girl!

Wonderfully, miraculously, Florence's pose dissolves into giggles. This surprises her even more than it does me. Dismay flits across her face, and then she decides wheeee! The hell with it! Carpe that sweet diem! She sits her little plaid-skirted arse on the pile carpet and continues giggling.

Gabriel, who'd been putting up with all this attention to Florence because he has sole possession of my diminishing lap, decides that enough is enough. When Florence laughs, it's at his expense. Plus he fears that visiting hours are over. He starts to howl. "Mummy! Mummy!" He gets his little arms around my neck in a virtual stranglehold and bellows "MUMMY" into my ear.

Florence finds this uproarious. I'm being choked and deafened, Gabriel is in hysterics, and she's giggling harder than ever. Sadistic little bitch.

Lie down, Mother. Lie down and stroke his hair and he'll fall asleep. Eventually.

Thanks, Spare. Even if I'm going mad, I appreciate the advice.

Any time.

"Winky--" That good house-elf delivers a discreet pinch, hidden behind the bedclothes she's tucking around Gabriel and me. Right. Don't call her Winky. "Tinky, whatever, do you think you can find a nightdress for Florence?" She nods and pops out.

This stops the girl's infernal giggling. "Mother! Whatever for?"

"Because you and Gabriel," who has subsided to quieter 'Mummy's and occasional hiccups, "are going to stay right here with me until he f-a-l-l-s a-s-l-e-e-p and we can all get some r-e-s-t."

Florence sneers at Gabriel's lack of spelling skills. "That's Nanny's job." Against her own will, Florence's attempt to restore protocol sounds halfhearted. She wants to stay with Mummy as much as Gabriel does. This encourages me. So does Winky's reappearance. She presses a cool, damp washcloth into my hand. I wipe tears and snot from Gabriel's weary face. He looks like me--and Draco, too. He looks like himself. "Mummy," he whimpers. Damn, he's cute. I wipe his nose. I kiss his nose. I kiss his forehead. He beams at me. Sunshine after the rain.

Florence sneers again. "Stop that," I tell her. "What if your face freezes that way? Get out of that uniform and get into bed. It won't hurt Nanny to take an evening off, now that I'm feeling better." I can't remember if I trust Nanny. I seem to remember Winky running off candidates who didn't suit her. Maybe this Nanny is okay. Maybe she's the greatest thing since Mary Poppins, but right now Gabriel needs Mummy. So does Florence. She grumbles just enough to save face while neatly draping jacket, skirt and blouse on the nearest furniture. Winky silently offers her a nightdress. Florence haughtily snatches it from her.

"Mind your manners," I say.

"It's just the bloody elf!"

It's been a confusing afternoon for Florence. I must be firm but gentle. "I can't do without the bloody elf. I wouldn't be getting better if she hadn't been taking such good care of me. Say you're sorry."

"Sorry!" Spit like an insult with eyes glued to the floor.

Damn it. Time to lay down the law. No telling if it'll stick. Sleepy toddler sagging in my arms, baby swimming in my belly, I heave myself up from the bed and attempt to deliver a firm but gentle look. "You will look her in the eye and say 'I'm sorry I was rude' in a civil tone and don't you roll your eyes at me, young lady!" Damn that Lucius. I think he's dead, but damn him anyway. Fine manners he taught Draco.

Florence is struck speechless. An historic occasion. She is caught between indignation and fear.

"Say it." I hope there's not too much bullwhip in my voice.

Florence would rather be drawn and quartered. She casts her gaze in the bloody elf's general direction and mumbles something.

Cracking the whip: "Try it again." Call me Indiana Jones.

Florence gives me a look of supreme martyrdom. Saint Joan at the stake did not endure such torment. Oh, the things I do to placate my poor, sick mother! Florence heaves a sigh of infinite patience and suffering. She looks Winky in the eye and delivers a chilly "I'm sorry I was rude."

Winky looks Florence right back and says, with just as much of a chill, "Florence is a good girl. Florence will not be rude again to the bloody elf."

This just in: Hell freezes over. Winky stood up for herself. She gave as good as she got. Turn in your whip, Professor Jones.

"Very good," I interrupt before Florence gets too scared. (A bit scared is good, but not too scared.) "Nap time."

Florence breaks her gaze from Winky's. She staggers to bed with a distinct deer-in-the-headlights look. Her world has been rocked. I do hope that's good. I have to remind her to don the nightdress she clutches to her bare chest.

I think I fell asleep before Gabriel did. Because the last thing I remember was him patting my head and saying "Mummy sleep." And Florence saying "Shhh!" but not loud or mean about it. Winky must still have been by.

I think so. I'm fuzzy because I just woke up. Feeling hot and cramped because Gabriel is sprawled over my legs like a heavy rug, and Florence is hugging me and dead to the world. I see Draco standing over us, right at the side of the bed. He's all tired and handsome and looking down at us, and there's this look on his face I've never seen before.

Like maybe he loves us.