Disclaimer: I own neither the work of Rowling nor the genius of Whedon.
A/N: This idea just popped into my head and wouldn't shake loose.
1) She was woefully sweet.
She baked him cookies. Cookies
. Chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, soft-sugar, gingersnaps, snicker-doodles, Madeline’s, and those were all before she got a hold of a few wizarding cookbooks. She told him once that she preferred to mix by hand, said it made her penitence more penitent, but she liked the combinations and it was true that a lot of wizarding cooking was a lot like muggle chemistry (volatile ingredients and all that).
He told her that the cookies were unnecessary. So long as she was faithful and never ever
did anything to harm any member of the Malfoy family, she was fine by him. Yank blood and muggle parents notwithstanding. This comment, though made with his usual sneer and accompanying acidic flair, was met with relieved tears and a stream of word-vomit that so frightened him that he vowed never to discomfit the petite redhead again.
2) She had more power in her little finger than Grindelwald, Voldemort, and Dumbledore combined.
The first time he saw her go “Darth Willow” as she called it, was when she was rescuing him from the wreckage of the Parkinson estate. Black veins were running across her face, down her neck and all over her exposed skin and her hair and eyes were the color of a moonless night. She was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen, but she was there to save him, not hurt him, so that was alright. After the cookies started rolling in his fear turned into a healthy respect, which he imagined (with something that was not really disgust) would eventually grow to love for this babbling, wandless, Californian.
She nursed him back to health, through the broken bones and the relearning how to walk. Curses had twisted his lower body, turning his kneecaps backwards and forcing him to adopt out of necessity the accessory his father had once carried solely for the purpose of intimidation. All throughout the process he was nasty, rude, downright evil, and generally about as pleasant to be around as a dragon with a sore tooth. She didn’t mind, enjoyed it even. Told him later, in strictest confidence, that he reminded her of a dear friend: a vampire that had been like family, whom she had loved and lost.
3) She was going to make him an elder brother.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. If there was any witch who could do it – aside, perhaps, from the oh-so-brilliant and oh-so-obnoxious Hermione Granger-Weasley – it was Willow. Research and desire wrought a spell-and-serum combination that soon made her famous across the wizarding world, the patent alone managed to revitalize the flagging Malfoy fortunes almost singlehandedly. And still, before she would utilize her creation, she asked him for his permission. She explained to him that she had always wanted a large family and that while she loved him, she really didn’t see him as a son. That was fine by him; she was only five years older than he. Truthfully, it would have been odd for him to try to view her as a second mother. He called her Willow, or Roux, and she called him Drake. She was the benevolent aunt he’d never had and she was going to provide him with a little sibling any day now.
4) She made his mother happy.
Narcissa Black-Malfoy had always been a reserved woman. Lucius would accept nothing less than absolutely perfect deportment, absolutely perfect composure, absolute perfection. With Willow his mother could simply be
. Be the scion of an old and noble lineage that happened to turn out a few crazies every generation (and here he had – what was the saying? – “fingers crossed” that Willow would help them be rid of that tendency), be a nasty bitch when the whim struck her, be tender with those she loved, be happy
As for Willow, Narcissa allowed her to be gray. She’d come to the wizarding world hurt and tormented both by the death of her lover and her resultant actions. Her past didn’t allow her to be entirely comfortable with what she called the “white hats” and her convictions wouldn’t allow her to join the dark. She was, as she liked to call it, “double-dipped.” She’d started out pure and become tarnished and the only people she felt comfortable with were those who’d walked the same road, or done it in reverse.
And now the family was about to grow again, another Black about to enter the world. Draco looked over at the woman who had brought so much change into his life: Willow was dozing, soft whuffling noise rising from her every so often as her chest and eight-months-pregnant belly rose and fell with each breath. Narcissa was sitting beside her on the couch and reading the paper with one hand while slowly carding the other through the red hair of the witch lying across her lap. Such domesticity
it almost made him sick. He loved it. He loved her
Willow Rosenberg, his wicked (but not evil) stepmother.
A/N: So? What do you think?