(no subject)

[peki]

Well I never!

This just goes to show that you should never delete stories that you think you might not finish (note to self). This was started about four years ago and dug up again today in hopes of feeling inspired. And suddenly there was an ending that made sense :)

Title: Fly, my pretties
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Lucius/Narcissa, Draco
Rating: G
Summary: In which Draco has a flair for drama even at five years old, and Narcissa is a twitchy mother. Aka, the Malfoys being domestic. As fluffy as Death Eaters get.


Narcissa Malfoy liked exclusive designer robes as much as the next rich witch, but acquiring them was an entirely different matter.

Initially, a visit to London with the whole family had seemed like a lovely idea. Lucius had offered to take them along on one of his business trips, which was a rare treat in itself, and now that Draco was a little older, Narcissa had thought that he might appreciate the delights of the city.

Unfortunately, the delights were few today.

There was noise. Flashing lights. An absolutely horrid smell. And she didn’t even want to think about the people too much.

Standing amidst a crowd of Muggles, Narcissa breathed carefully through her mouth and tried to keep bodily contact with the filth all around her to a minimum. Her son’s chubby little hand felt sweaty in hers even through her lace gloves, and he pressed himself as closely to her side as he could possibly get. With every car that sped by, he winced.

Finally, the pole with the box on top flashed green, and the Muggles started to cross the street. Breathing a sigh of relief, Narcissa manoeuvred herself and her son out of the throng of people and towards the next corner. She was probably pulling Draco’s arm a little too hard, but the sooner they reached their destination, the better.

‘I’ll meet you there after I’m done at the Ministry,’ Lucius had said. ‘It’s just four streets from the Leaky Cauldron! Surely you’ll manage.’ And she would. She would. She simply hadn’t considered how much a five-year-old would slow her down.

The thought strengthened her resolve. She had not visited the place since shortly after Draco was born, so busy had they been. But people were slowly starting to forget about the war and all the unsavory rumors surrounding the Malfoys, and several invitations had come in that necessitated a new wardrobe. If people were going to watch them and judge, she would look nothing less than perfect.

Perfection came at a price, however, and this particular shop’s exclusivity half depended on it not being located in Diagon Alley, but in a busy area of Muggle London. One did not only need a sufficient amount of gold to shop there, but also the nerve to brave the chaos of its neighborhood.

Nerve that Draco seemed to lack. “Mummy,” he begged, almost running as he tried to match his mother’s quick stride, “I want to go home.”

“We need to get measured for pretty clothes, remember?” Narcissa stepped around a trashcan and sniffed disdainfully. “So you can have robes just like your father’s.”

“I don’t want robes,” Draco whined. “I want to go home!”

“Soon,” Narcissa soothed. She was wearing an inconspicuous coat over her robes, but her customary high heels were ill chosen for a distance such as this. She couldn’t remember when she had last been forced to walk this far. The designers had better make her some spectacular gowns, if they didn’t have the common courtesy of connecting to the Floo, at least. “We can go into Diagon Alley later to have tea and cake.”

Draco turned wide grey eyes on her. “I want to buy robes in Diagon Alley!”

“Not today, darling.” One of the smelly cars sped past dangerously closely. In the pocket of her coat, Narcissa made a fist around her wand. Just one more street to cross, around the corner, and…

“Please, mummy!” Draco was dragging heavily on her hand now. “Mummy…”

But he trailed off when they came to wait before another pole with a red light. To the left, in a display window, one of the Muggles’ strange glowing cubes flickered with quickly-changing pictures. Draco's tugging stopped as he watched the unfamiliar attraction. Inside the box, a story unfolded. There was sound too, music and high-pitched voices. Several Muggle children were gathered close to the window, staring in fascination, their parents close behind them.

Narcissa frowned. She had heard of those cubes; they were a bit like normal, moving pictures, only locked inside that box. But how very common, to stand in the streets, staring at pictures. Did those Muggles have nothing better to do? She squeezed Draco's hand gently. "Come, darling."

They were just about to cross the street when she saw it. A female figure moved into the picture inside the box, wearing long robes and riding a broom. Narcissa blinked, surprised, then glanced at the Muggles. The children looked faintly scared, the parents rather unexcited. How strange, a witch in a Muggle picture? Again, she fixed her eyes on the image-box. Apparently, the witch was chasing a Muggle girl with a dog.

Narcissa hesitated for a moment, watching with Draco as a house dropped out of the sky, the scenery outside changed to a brightly coloured little town, and finally, a witch in rather unflattering robes of salmon colour appeared in a pink bubble.

“Why didn’t she Apparate?” Draco asked.

Narcissa was asking herself the same thing; bubbles hadn’t been en vogue since the turn of the last millenium, they were such an uncomfortable mode of transportation. Inside the cube, the stupid girl lapsed into a speech about ugly witches, which was to be expected - ignorant Muggles - but still made Narcissa furrow her brow in anger. “Draco,” she chided when the boy still stood glued to the spot, watching, as she tugged at his hand again. “We really must…”

But suddenly, two legs could be seen under the house that had dropped out of the sky, and the bubble-travelling witch of questionable taste explained that the elegant lady with the broomstick had been killed by its fall. The Muggle children laughed at this tragic turn of events.

Furious, Narcissa glared at the parents, but they still seemed rather bored, as if the murder of witches by house-dropping was a commonplace activity. In her pocket, she gripped her wand more tightly. If this was what the world was coming to--

“Mummy!” Draco looked up at her, his voice suddenly loud even over the noise of the street, “What happened to the lady?”

Narcissa thought that she'd rather not expose her child to any more cruel details. “She's probably just fine, darling.”

“No!” a little girl with long pigtails and a gap-toothed grin piped up, “She's dead, the witch.”

Startled, Draco glanced back at the glowing cube, and before Narcissa could distract him or pull him along, the people inside the box began to sing and dance. "Ding dong, the witch is dead. She's gone where the goblins go, below - below - below. Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out, ding dong the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low. Let them know the wicked witch is dead!"

And just like that, Draco had had enough. He wrapped his arms around his mother’s knees, hid his face in her skirt and began to wail loudly.

Around them, people slowed down, turned around, started to whisper as Draco worked himself up into hysterics. The Muggle parents stared at Narcissa, frowns of puzzlement on their faces. “But, dear, the girl's house smashed the witch,” one of the women said helpfully. Draco cried harder.

His mother tried in vain to unwrap his arms from her legs. “Shh, darling, it's alright,” she whispered, “it's just a picture.” Or so she hoped.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a dirty orange cloud of smoke (the Floo network really had improved so much during the last couple of decades), which delivered another black-clad witch with a very pretty hat (the poor thing's face was all green - surely there was a countercurse for that?) who threatened the Muggle girl with pain and death in retaliation for her sister’s murder (Narcissa sympathized).

Still, Draco cried heart-wrenchingly. His mother sighed. They were attracting far too much attention for her liking, and if her husband showed up now… People had suffered for less than making Lucius Malfoy’s only son and heir cry. The family really didn’t need negative publicity at the moment. Immobilized by her son’s grip, she bent awkwardly to pat his head. “Draco, darling, please…”

“Can I help you, madam?” a stern voice came from behind her. Glancing up, she noticed a man in a strange dark blue suit with silver emblems. He wore a truly ridiculous mustache and a most extraordinary hat, which was secured tightly under his fat chin with a strap.

“Thank you, no,” she answered as coolly as she could without appearing openly hostile. How dare these Muggles meddle in their business!

The man glanced from Narcissa to Draco, who had stopped his wailing for the moment in favour of peeking at the stranger. He was scowling admirably.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”

He reached out a hand towards Draco, Draco backed off, let out a high-pitched scream, and the worn thread of Narcissa’s composure snapped. “Don’t you touch my son!”

The Muggle snatched back his hand, his face turning very red. “I’m sorry,” he fumbled, glancing uncertainly at her furious face, “I didn’t mean…” He trailed off when Draco began
to sob again.

Narcissa sighed. Little hands clutched at her knees, refusing to let go, and when she tried to pry Draco off her legs, he only screamed harder. Exasperated, she looked around, but there was nowhere to go and Apparate away without being seen.

“Draco,” she whispered sternly, “you’re making a spectacle of us - come along now!”

“Perhaps he is in pain?” the Muggle suggested, once again hovering dangerously close. “I can take him to a hospital…”

Draco drew a deep breath and screamed. “Mummy!”

Deciding that the situation could not possibly get any worse, Narcissa forcefully unwrapped her son’s arms from around her legs and picked him up. The Muggles stared, the lights flashed, the cars roared, and Draco had become too heavy for her without the help of a levitation charm quite a while ago. Underneath her woollen clothing, Narcissa felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine. Disgusting. “Quiet now, Draco,” she said firmly, taking one slow step at a time as she moved away from the box and the Muggles. “Shh, it’s all right.”

“Madam, clearly something is wrong with the boy.” The damned Muggle in the blue, decorated suit wouldn’t go away. “I think maybe a doctor should…”

“No! No! No!” Draco protested, beside himself now. “Mummy! Dad! I want dad!”

“Leave us alone,” Narcissa snarled at the man, taking another step towards the street. “He’s upset enough!”

The next moment, she felt the Muggle’s hand on her arm and almost dropped Draco in shock. “Madam--”

“What on earth is going on?” Narcissa was so relieved to hear the familiar voice that she could have kissed her husband in public. “Take your hands off my wife!” The hard silver knob of Lucius’ cane pressed into her spine as he put his hand against the small of her back, steadying her. He wore a glare that made the Muggle parents scoop up their children and retreat.

The strange man pulled away as if burned. “I beg your pardon, sir, I… Well. The boy - your son, I presume…”

“Go now,” Lucius snarled, and the Muggle scampered off with a hasty farewell.

Lucius scowled, but directed his gaze from the people around them to their son, who was hiccoughing with sobs. He took the boy from Narcissa and settled him in the crook of one arm, nudging his wife lightly towards the corner and into a quieter side street. Out of earshot of any Muggles, he stopped. “Would you care to explain what happened?”

Draco clutched the lapels of his father’s coat, his chin still trembling pitifully. “The house smashed the witch, dad!”

Lucius looked back and forth impatiently between his wife and his son. “House? I am sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And they sang!” Draco added pitifully.

“Sang?” Lucius scowled when the boy nodded. “And that’s what you’re making such a fuss for?”

Draco frowned deeply, and before he could get worked up again, Narcissa cut in. “There was a picture, in there,” she cocked her head in the direction of the shop, “with a witch and a house...” Ah, perhaps it was better not to divulge all the details. “It upset Draco.” Conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air, she wiped at her son's smudged face. “All better now, darling?”

Lucius released a long-suffering sigh. “Well, whatever Muggle nonsense you got mixed up in, it’s over now.” He regarded his son seriously. “You know we would never let them hurt you, Draco, so I don’t want you making a scene again. It’s unbecoming of a Malfoy.”

Draco pouted. “I don’t like Muggles.”

“Well, so at least you’ve learned that lesson, then,” Lucius said in a businesslike manner. He bent to set the boy back on his own feet again. “Now perhaps we can continue…”

Draco screamed as soon as his feet touched the ground, hanging on to his father’s neck for dear life. Lucius looked at Narcissa. Narcissa didn’t bat an eyelash. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault.”

“He has a taste for dramatics. A true Black’s defining trait,” he snapped. “After all--”

“You do not want to follow that line of thought,” she said crisply. They glared at each other for a few silent moments until she turned abruptly on her heel and flounced off. She had just fended off a crowd of Muggles after he had left her on her own. What had Lucius done, to insult her family name?

“Where do you think you’re going?” her husband called after her.

“I’m late for my appointment with the tailors,” Narcissa informed him. “Come along or take Draco home. I need to be going now.”

“What am I supposed to do with him, witch?” Lucius demanded.

“Hush,” she said sweetly. “Think of the Statute of Secrecy, dear.”

“To hell with the Statute,” he snarled, and when she turned around to reply, there was a crack, and her husband and son were gone.

Rolling her eyes, Narcissa hurried across the street. Without the child slowing her down, she was quick on her feet now. Draco could always wear robes from Madam Malkins’, and really, it couldn’t hurt him and Lucius to have some father-son time without her. It wasn’t that Lucius didn’t usually make time to spend with his family, but in the five years of Draco’s life, the boy had hardly ever been separated from his mother for more than an hour.

Narcissa liked it that way - he was the only child she was going to have, after all - but designer robes were serious business. Sometimes, a witch had to have priorities, and she’d had quite enough of the more taxing of her motherly duties for the moment.

But much as she deserved her little indulgences, she could not fully enjoy herself that afternoon. Passing through the polluted Muggle city had given her a headache that not even a long-practiced spell could soothe, and the earlier stress had left her restless and uneasy. More than once, she found herself snapping at the seamstresses to hurry up, and thinking how nice it would be to be at home, with her husband and son.

Still, tailor-made robes could not be rushed, so when Narcissa returned to Wiltshire, it was almost dinner time, and her worry for how her two men had fared in her absence had prevailed over her enjoyment of the unexpected alone time. She hoped Lucius had seized the opportunity to be with their son, at least, and not passed Draco on to one of the house elves, but if he had, it was entirely her fault for leaving the two of them to their own devices.

The house was very quiet as she stood in the entrance hall, peeling off her gloves and listening intently. All she heard was the ‘pop’ of the elf appearing before her, though, and she scowled at it briefly before shrugging off her coat for the creature to put away. “Is dinner almost ready?”

The elf nodded tremulously. “Master ordered fried fish and chips,” it squeaked, quivering under Narcissa’s glare.

She wrinkled her nose at this curious choice of meal. “We were to have smoked salmon tonight. Go and punish yourself for deviating from the menu I gave you.”

Shuddering, the elf disappeared, and Narcissa felt reconciled to the prospect of having chips. Draco liked chips. Perhaps that was why Lucius had ordered them. Smiling slightly at that thought, she made her way down to the family parlour, expecting to find her husband reading the paper, perhaps, and Draco playing with his dragon figurines. But the door to the patio was thrown open, and the sight that met her eyes as she looked outside made her gasp with shock.

Draco was soaring through the air on a broomstick that was too large for him, the wind carrying his squeals and laughter through the garden. Lucius stood on the lawn beneath, his shirt untucked, his sleeves rolled up, the very picture of indecorum, his own broom lying in the grass at his feet. He turned when Narcissa called his name.

“Lucius!” She found her earlier irritation returning to her readily with the increasing ache behind her temples. “What is this?”

“Have you lost your eyesight?” he asked dryly.

Narcissa had to clamp down hard on the urge to snap at him. “You bought him a broomstick?” She shaded her eyes with one hand against the waning evening light, peering up into the sky to find her son only a small, dark shape against the orange glow of the sunset. He swerved over the garden, following a zigzagging path through the sky that made sense only to him. With each abrupt change of direction, each cry of delight, Narcissa’s stomach lurched. “He is five years old!”

“He is talented,” her husband said, unconcerned. “Look at him, how he holds his balance--”

“You would risk his life so he could make you proud?” she burst out.

His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t let him out of my sight. He is perfectly safe,” he said curtly, and had she not been so angry with him, she would have felt regret for insulting him in such a manner, against her better knowledge. “Look how he enjoys himself! Rather more than he did with you, earlier.”

The barb stung, as it was supposed to. “How could you, Lucius!” she forced out through a constricting throat, “He’s only a little boy!”

“A boy who cries at the sight of a Muggle picture!” Lucius huffed. “I can’t have that! You’ve coddled him long enough, Narcissa.”

“I don’t coddle him,” she cried. “I just protect him to the best of my ability--”

“As do I.”

It was true. And yet...

Narcissa sighed, turning away from her husband to watch Draco still flying above, oblivious to their argument. “You could’ve bought him one of the children’s brooms that only hover at two feet’s height--”

“Toys!” Lucius said with contempt. “My son is going to have the best.”

“Yes, certainly,” she replied weakly, feeling his eyes on her. “Just...I don’t want him to become reckless. Get himself mixed up in things that are beyond his control.” She’d had enough of her family do just that.

She squared her shoulders rigidly, watching Draco above, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. But then, she felt her husband’s hands at her waist, pulling her back into his chest, and she could not but relax when he kissed her cheek. “It’s just a broom, Narcissa,” he said, more quietly now. “And earlier, it was just a picture. He will be fine.”

She nodded and let herself be comforted by the words. Lucius would never let anything happen to their son. Neither of them would.

“Mum!” Draco called shrilly, pointing the handle of his broom down to descend at a frightening angle. When he touched down on the ground, wobbly in the knees, dizzy and breathless, she caught him and hugged him fiercely, knowing that she would sooner die than let harm come to him.

“Did you see, mum?” he laughed, eyes bright with triumph,“I can do it! All by myself!”

“Yes, I saw,” she said, brushing his hair off his damp forehead. He squirmed in her embrace, and reluctantly, she let him go. Soon, he wouldn’t be her little boy anymore; he seemed taller to her already than he had that morning. “Well done, Draco.”

He beamed. “Father, can we--”

“Tomorrow.” Lucius’ tone brooked no argument. “You have much to learn. Now go inside and get ready for dinner.”

It was a testament to how happy Draco was that for once, he did not protest. He ran inside to bathe, and Narcissa was left alone in the darkening garden with her husband.

She strolled across the lawn, looking up at the sky once more as he banished the brooms to the shed around the corner of the house. Draco’s constellation would be visible that night, as it had been on the clear, starry summer evening he’d been born. For a moment, she wondered what was written in the stars for her son, her family, but then Lucius sauntered up behind her to put a hand against the small of her back again, interrupting her musings.

“There. All is well.”

For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, her head tilted back against his shoulder as her eyes searched the dusky sky. “Will it always be that way?”

“Yes,” Lucius said.

She blinked rapidly, the stars little milky pinpricks behind her eyelids. “Promise me.”

He huffed quietly. “You know there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make it so.”

It wasn’t the same thing, and they both knew it, but perhaps it could be enough. For the moment, they were safe, locked away at home, only the three of them. If life could always be like this, she thought, and quickly turned in her husband’s arms to kiss him with all the desperate passion of a need that felt long-denied.

It had been a long day, away from home. Away from him. She gasped when they broke apart. “London is not what it used to be.”

“What is?” he murmured.

Narcissa laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. The pounding inside her head was finally subsiding. “Nothing,” she said.

“Well. I hope the robes at Twilfit and Tatting’s were to your liking, at least?” he teased. “Since I am sure they will owl me a substantial bill tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Narcissa had to smile. Come morning, over breakfast, he would chide her for her vanity that matched his own so perfectly, and then they could carry on, in quiet appreciation of each other’s flaws.

He laughed. “I knew your kisses never came without a price, Miss Black.”

He knew her too well to not be able to distinguish each different, subtle flavor of her kisses, but there was no point in being sentimental. Narcissa had to admit she was a little overwrought. She smiled up at him coyly. “Forgive me?”

His thin mouth twisted into a rare smile. “Yes, I think I shall. Just this once.” He offered her his arm to lead her back to the house. “And I suppose today wasn’t a complete waste of time after all.”

“No.” She touched her fingertips gently to the warm skin on the inside of his arm, where she could still feel the fading scar. “Draco was happy.”

“The Muggles gave him a fright. I thought he deserved a treat.”

“You’re very good,” she smiled.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Flattery? Should I be frightened?”

“No.” At the patio door, she stopped, turning to him once more. “My admiration is genuine, Mr Malfoy.”

Lucius smirked like he wanted to tease her some more, but then he simply nodded. “And mine.”

She smiled. “Shall we, then? Our dinner of fish and chips awaits, on your orders.”

“Ah, right. The things I do for my family,” Lucius sighed.

Indeed.