When Narcissa had discovered she was pregnant once more, she could not help but feel over the moon. It had been mere months since she had given birth to Draco. Nevertheless, she was overjoyed to be given another child to love and cherish.
However, constant trepidation plagued her mind, similar to when she was first pregnant. I hope it isn’t a girl. She felt dreadful for ever contemplating it, but that did not prevent her from praying it to be true. It was quixotic of her to believe the gods would listen to her pleas.
She knew these thoughts were brought on due to her obsequious nature. She also knew that was what Sirius and Andromeda would have her believe.
Often repeating, “Narcissa, have you ever had a single fucking thought of your own.” at her chagrin, dragging her further into her melancholy.
She would often disagree, but she knew they spoke the truth. She had been raised to be the paragon of pureblood pulchritude, grace, and excellence. She was what everyone craved to be, but she herself wished to be someone else. Her mother raised her to never be contumacious or puerile, simply stating that it was not what women of House Black were. They were docile, obedient, and demure pawns for their fathers to sell off when their reputations were tarnished by scandal and scrutiny.
She did not wish for a child to have the same fate. She knew that Draco would never befall fate, as he was lucky. He was born a man.
***
Narcissa was not so lucky. Her pernicious wishes were not granted.
On 7th July 1991, a daughter had been born. Helena Narcissa Malfoy, a small babe, with her father's hair and her mother's face. It was a joyous occasion, but Narcissa couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over her. Though she masked it with a saccharine smile that no one could see through.