Cornwallis Malfoy stood in the doorway, his blonde hair slightly disheveled, dark circles under his grey eyes. The baby on his hip—Sebastian—had a fistful of his father's collar in one hand and was chewing on the other, drool glistening on his chin.

Behind him, the faint cry of the infant rang out again, sharper this time. A demand. A summons.

Through the doorway, the sound of a rocking chair creaked somewhere deeper in the house. Slow. Rhythmic. Waiting.