Chapter Text
The Mistress sweats and cries, her wailing pounding the midwife's ears. Bunty, the elf of the creaking house, pulls his dripping ears down and wraps them around his head. Outside the bedroom, the Master paces, his hands behind his back, thumb worrying over his rings, and the sisters sit on the hall bench. In the most shadowed corner of the room, a man sits. His long legs crossed, a pocket watch sits in his hand, while his jaw rests on his knuckle; he looks pleasant. His handsome face has a light smile despite the screaming originating from just a room over.
The man sighs and clicks his watch shut, “Cygnus, your wife is going to make me very proud. I do hope she lives. I’d hate for the child to be motherless.”
Cygnus swallows roughly and glances at his Lord, sees the cat smile, and knows that the man only said such a thing because he hates Cygnus. The man despises him for being a snotty child, for growing up to be a spare and having no other ambitions, but his Lord is merciful. So merciful that he tasked his wife to birth an oddity. So merciful that he has demanded Cygnus raise a child that is not his own, not his wife’s either. They are grateful to be given such a monumentous gift. His stomach turns like the sea, rough and choppy, and there's a wet stinging in his eyes. Make no mistake, there isn’t a grand closeness between his wife and him, nothing but a marital duty to provide an heir for the family while the main branch is childless. He often hates his sister, the horror, and sometimes his cousin, the coward, for if they were sane people, he would not have to endure the humiliation of having three daughters and no son. He hated his wife the most, hated that she was so strong. That she kept her wits and her drive about her while he slowly crumbled. Yes, he is grateful to his lord for this blessing, even if his lord did not mean it to be.
Cygnus nods and whispers his gratitude softly, heard over the now quieting wails of his Druella. His heart clenched, the sudden silences tightening around his neck like a fat python squeezing its prey. Even his lord leaned forward, his own keen ears sharpened. Thick, humid tension caused beads of sweat to dimple at Cygnus’ already misted forehead, and the python went slack, rolling off his shoulders, as a high-pitched cry broke the air. His lord leaned back for a moment before he stood, straightening his waistcoat and pocketing his watch. Long strides took him down the dimly lit hall, and the dark wooden door creaked open before he even stuck a hand out for the knob, not that he would’ve.
Light and heat spilled out into the hall, Druella’s own distress and pain raising the temperature. The babe wailed, a pink and disgruntled, fresh from his mother's cradling womb and held in shaky hands now. Little Belletrix peeks inside, her hands gripping the doorframe. She should have been in bed hours ago, but there she sits, wide-eyed with a mix of wonder and caution, after being woken up by the agonized cries of her mother. Cygnus scooped her up, tucking her against him. When he stumbles next to the bed, he finds Druella’s eyes quivering in worry, the babe no longer held in her arms but craddled in the hold of Great Britain's most terrifying Dark Lord. The lord's face is flat, but there’s a barely there softness in his maroon eyes, a hunch to his spine as he tilts his head downward to look at the baby's face. The air in the room vibrates as the lord parts his lips in a whispered breath, “Hadrian. That will be his name.”
Wicked Wallburga, or not so affectionately named Wailly, lets out a long-winded sigh, as if she just committed a grievous task, and smirks, “A very noble name, my Lord, quite a grand name indeed.” The horrid woman glanced briefly at Druella and stuck her nose up, thinking she could do better. Deep inside her mean heart, she felt pity and fear. Perhaps, Cygnus thought, his sister is the coward.
Hadrian squirms, mouth opening and closing, gasping his first proper breath. The lord propped the babe up in the crook of his elbow, his hand holding his head up, “My Morgana,” his lord gasped, “look at those eyes!” A genuine joy overtook his face, a broad smile shining in the lamplight. The man turns his back to them, and over his shoulder, Cygnus spots a scrunched-up face. It will be a while before he and his wife get to hold the new babe, so he turns to her and brushes the wet hair out of Druella’s face. He leans down and presses his forehead against her temple and whispers a warming charm to her shivering skin. Her eyes flutter closed for just a moment, then look to him with exclamation. His attention is taken by the house elf who carries vials of potions, the crystal tubes piled in its long fingers. Cygnus holds the tip of his wand over his wife's knee, a pain reduction spell on his lips. He turns, once more, to his lord; the man's neck is still bent to keep a continuous gaze on Hadrian as he spins in slow circles. It seems the man has been overwhelmed with joy, the corners of his mouth turned high, and he dances.
The python wraps back around Cygnus’ neck.