Pureblood life

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
G
Pureblood life
Summary
Narcissa and Lucius life
Note
I not suport J.K.Rowling belives abouth transpersons, girly girls and skinny girls.

The atmosphere at Malfoy Manor was one of quiet anticipation on the night Lucius Malfoy was born. Selena Malfoy, pale and regal, reclined in her opulent bedchamber, her silken nightgown damp with perspiration as the midwife worked to ease the labor. Abraxas paced outside the room, his sharp features betraying a mixture of impatience and concern.

Hours later, the cry of a newborn echoed through the grand halls. The midwife emerged with a swaddled baby boy, his pale hair already gleaming under the dim light. “It’s a boy,” she announced.

Abraxas strode into the room, his piercing gaze falling on his son. The sight of the infant—the perfect reflection of himself with his platinum hair and aristocratic features—brought a rare smile to his lips. He approached Selena, who looked exhausted but triumphant, her face alight with pride.

“A boy,” Selena whispered weakly, her voice trembling with relief. “He looks just like you.”

Abraxas nodded, satisfied. “He is the heir the Malfoy family deserves.”

For a fleeting moment, there was harmony between the two. Selena reached out to touch Abraxas’s hand, but he quickly withdrew, his smile fading.

In the days following Lucius’s birth, the cracks in their relationship widened. Selena, still recovering from the labor, spent her days in bed with the baby by her side, cooing over him and trying to think of the perfect name. But every suggestion she made—Cassius, Leander, Septimus—was met with disdain from Abraxas.

“No,” Abraxas said curtly one evening, standing in the doorway of her chamber. “His name will be Lucius.”

Selena bristled but didn’t argue. She had learned long ago that Abraxas’s word was law in the Malfoy household.

Despite their shared joy in their son, the rift between them was irreparable. Only days after Lucius was born, Abraxas informed Selena that she would need to leave Malfoy Manor for a time.

“You’ve done your duty,” he said coldly, his gaze fixed on the window rather than her. “The heir is born. There’s no reason for you to linger here.”

Selena’s voice wavered with anger. “You want me gone? I’ve just given birth to your son!”

Abraxas turned to her with an icy smile. “You’ve served your purpose, Selena. Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Selena knew better than to argue further. She had always been more of a trophy than a partner to Abraxas, and his lover—a striking witch from an influential pure-blood family—had long since replaced her in his affections.

As she prepared to leave, Selena held baby Lucius close, whispering promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. “You’ll be strong, my son,” she murmured. “Stronger than him.”

Though her time at Malfoy Manor was limited, she left knowing that Lucius, with his father’s looks and a legacy of power awaiting him, was destined to carry the Malfoy name into the future. Even as she stepped into the waiting carriage, she glanced back at the grand manor, her heart heavy but her resolve firm.

Lucius, swaddled and sleeping peacefully in the arms of a nursemaid, was left behind, the pride of his father and a symbol of the Malfoy lineage. But in his earliest days, he had already become a pawn in a world of ambition, betrayal, and fractured relationships.
*************************************************************
The night Narcissa was born was steeped in scandal and turmoil. Druella Black had been fuming for hours before the fateful moment. Earlier that day, she had caught her husband, Cygnus, in bed with Selina Malfoy—wife of Abraxas Malfoy. The betrayal was a blow too great for even Druella’s iron composure.

“You disgrace this family!” Druella screamed, her voice shaking the walls of the Black estate as she threw a crystal vase at Cygnus. “With her? Of all people?”

Cygnus, unrepentant and smug, had merely adjusted his robes, his silver eyes cold. “Perhaps if you paid more attention to your duties as a wife, I wouldn’t need to look elsewhere.”

The words cut deep. Druella, humiliated and enraged, ordered Cygnus out of the house. He left without argument, leaving Druella trembling with anger. The strain was too much. Barely an hour later, Druella felt the first sharp pains signaling that her labor had begun—far too soon.

Druella’s labor stretched painfully into the night. Weak from months of drinking and stress, her body struggled with the burden of bringing life into the world. The midwife and healers worked tirelessly, but Druella’s condition worsened with each passing hour.

When the first child, a boy, was delivered, he was small and silent. The midwife tried to revive him, but it was no use—the baby boy, the heir Cygnus had longed for, was gone before he had even lived.

Grief-stricken but determined, Druella fought to bring her second child into the world. Just before dawn, Narcissa was born—a fragile, pale baby with golden-blonde hair that shimmered faintly in the morning light. She was alive but weak, her cries soft and strained.

Druella, barely conscious, looked at her daughter and whispered hoarsely, “She’s too light… too fair. She doesn’t look like a Black.”

When Cygnus returned days later, the house was in mourning. Druella had succumbed to her injuries, weakened from the arduous labor and the loss of blood. The baby boy had been buried, and Narcissa lay in the nursery, swaddled tightly, her tiny form struggling to thrive.

“She’s alive?” Cygnus asked, his voice cold as he stood at the edge of the nursery.

“Yes, Master Black,” the nursemaid replied. “But she’s weak. And… well…”

Cygnus stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the infant. Her golden-blonde hair and delicate features were unlike the dark, sharp looks of the Black family. For a brief, chilling moment, Cygnus wondered if the child was his—or if she was the product of Druella’s supposed indiscretions with Abraxas Malfoy.

“She doesn’t even look like me,” Cygnus muttered, his disappointment evident.

But the midwife, fearing for her position, assured him, “She is yours, Master Black. There is no doubt.”

Still, Cygnus found little comfort. His son, the heir he had so desperately wanted, was dead. His wife was gone. And the child who had survived was a girl—a weak, fragile girl who didn’t even bear the traditional Black features.