For a moment, Draco considered defiance and refusing to walk with his father. Lucius hadn't, thus far, asked after him and Draco knew full well without a need to inquire about it that Lucius was displeased and perhaps shocked that Narcissa was working -- and working a common, ordinary sort of job, no less. While Draco himself was not pleased with his mother's current state of affairs, for he had no doubt what Pansy and Lisa had told him was true, he would not look down on her (much) or judge her (much) until he set foot in her establishment. Father, on the other hand, was likely already scheming ways as to how he could either put an end to Mother's working class days or upend it to his own advantage.
All in all, Draco was having difficulty in responding to this entire situation like a grown man rather than a sullen, petulant child.
He couldn't do this.
"Father," Draco said slowly, inclining his head toward the path Lucius had indicated, "I--"
But then it occurred to him that his father would see him as a disappointment, would find fault with Draco somehow if he did not accompany Lucius back to his home. Lucius had been pleased to see him; perhaps Draco could use this to his advantage somehow. Clearly Lucius hadn't any idea what Draco had done on his behalf or for him or because of him during the war; this would be leverage at some point. He could use his experiences to get something he wanted from Father when the time was right.
If only Father knew; he would be even more pleased.
The thought made him inwardly smirk, and he waved his hand, dismissing his abruptly-cut off sentence.
Draco had gotten better at hiding what he was thinking. Lucius considered this as he began to walk. Still, it wasn't hard to guess: the boy had always been good at weighing options, carefully measuring the advantages and disadvantages of each possible outcome to see where the most benefit lay. For whatever reason, he'd decided tonight that the most benefit lay in going along with Lucius, at least for a little while.
And Lucius couldn't complain about that. The truth was, he had been expecting the boy to turn away.
"You know," he said conversationally, "Almost everything I know about the events of the past few years is directly out of the Daily Prophet." He glanced sidelong at Draco.
Mindful to keep his distance yet remain close enough to not alert his father to his wariness, Draco kept his gaze straight ahead as they began to walk. If he looked on his father for too long, he might be inclined to say or do things he should not at this juncture.
Ah, The Daily Prophet. Fat lot of rubbish it was. Draco snorted, remembering the 'underground' copies that made their way into society long after the offices had been destroyed during one of the attacks. Nosy sods desperate to get the word out to the masses, no matter if it was true or not.
"Then I expect you know nothing of consequence. The Daily Prophet was not, is not, shall never be fit for anything other than liner for owl cages."
Exactly what he'd feared. Lucius frowned slightly.
"I wouldn't go that far," he said mildly. "There have been times when it proved useful for influencing public opinion, if one knew who to contact and how to tell the story."
Rita had always been so very accommodating, after all. But Lucius didn't even know if she'd survived the war, much less what the state of the Daily Prophet had been recently. Draco obviously knew more about the events of the war than was common knowledge. Time for a change of subject.
"Do you recall the jade statue your grandfather gave you for your sixth birthday?" Lucius kept his eyes ahead and his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "The dragon that breathed fire. I wonder if you might like to have it?"
Father did have a point. Once upon a time, if the right person knew the right reporter, he or she could mold public opinion to whatever their liking. Sadly, however, those times had long since passed.
"It isn't like that any longer," Draco said after a long silence. "Though perhaps there is hope for the future."
Not that Draco would seek out any of the reporters. He hadn't anything of consequence to report...yet. That could always change, certainly.
Upon mention of the statue, Draco forgot all pretense and stopped, staring at his father. The statue in question held significant importance to him, or at least it had once. Draco hadn't given it a thought in years; he had assumed it'd been lost amid the shufflings of war and nosy Ministry sods sullying the Manor's corridors. "I recall it, yes," he said carefully.
Hope for the future indeed. That was all Lucius had to go on, really. Well, that and some name recognition that could very well hinder more than it helped.
The statue, now... Lucius paused when Draco stopped walking and allowed himself a small smile. "If you do decide you'd like to have it, do let me know. I've got it on a corner table in my spare room, but I'm afraid there just isn't enough room for everything. You can pick it up tonight, if you wish."
He continued walking, leaving Draco to catch up. The truth was, he had been pleased to find that particular piece among the remnants of his possessions, but he wouldn't mind at all giving it back to its rightful owner. And a small show of goodwill might help convince Draco that they could be more like father and son, and a little less like opponents sitting across the chess board from one another.
Oh, Draco would certainly like to have it. He would like that very much. However, Father could not know that. In time, perhaps. But at this, their first meeting with one another in years? It would do Draco well to not appear needy or in want of anything Lucius had to offer. No matter if the item was of great value to him.
"Surely a spare room has a spare bit of space for a statue of its size," Draco said lightly. Averting his eyes, he pretended to brush away a thread, unwilling to appear too eager.
When Father began to walk again, Draco waited a few seconds before moving to fall into step beside him. Perhaps now would be the appropriate time to ask a few questions, to engage in pleasantries.
All pleasantries, naturally, pointed to information.
"Oh, there's certainly room for it somewhere. Or I can always sell it or trade it for supplies, if I need to." Lucius waved a hand carelessly. He thought he remembered that Draco had gone so far as to give the thing a name, but if the boy wanted to play this game, Lucius would make sure he knew what the stakes were.
"In any case, I haven't been here for long... a few weeks, I believe." Not that he cared to remember the night he'd come to town. Running into a party of Aurors out looking for troublemakers had not been pleasant. "I confess, I am still learning my way around town."
There. He'd offered something Draco wanted, and admitted to a weakness of his own. That was as much as he could possibly do without getting something in return.
Draco's jaw tightened at mention of selling or trading his statue, but he said nothing. Merely nodding, he offered his father a tight-lipped smile. As soon as it appeared, it began to fade.
"A few weeks?" Lifting his chin, the slightest of smirks adorned his face. "There is much to learn about this place, Father. And of its inhabitants." Oh, there certainly was much to learn. No doubt about that.
"What, praytell, have you learnt thus far?" he asked conversationally. Of course, he wasn't asking simply for the sake of conversation. "The town is rather large, in your position I believe it must be taxing, no?"
Lucius' patience could only stretch so far. He'd already admitted he didn't know much about the town; for Draco to rub it in was just crude. And Lucius was not about to let a comment slide about how 'taxing' his position must be.
"And what 'condition' would that be?" he asked archly. "If you think I'm out for a stroll because they took my wand, and it's my only option, you would be quite mistaken."
"I meant nothing by it, Father," Draco said calmly. "I myself must take care." Smiling grimly, he pushed back enough of his cloak to briefly reveal his wand to his father, needing to do so to re-balance the scales. "They haven't my wand either."
Quirking a brow, he smoothly let go of his cloak so it hung cleanly at his side, hiding his wand from plain sight. "I meant no offense."
"Of course," Lucius said, dismissing the whole incident. He wanted to ask why Draco would have to take care, but he wasn't willing to push the issue tonight. Better to walk in silence for a moment and consider the possibilities.
Draco was concealing the fact that he still had his wand. Perhaps he was still under suspicion, somehow. Lucius knew of the boy's early involvement with the Death Eaters, but it was extremely difficult to get any "inside" news when he was in prison. Newly convicted Death Eaters had avoided him, in case the Dark Lord's disfavor was catching.
In any case, they were nearing Copper Towers. It was tempting to slow his steps, to make this contact with his son, however distant and uncertain, last just a bit longer. But he instinctively shied away from showing such sentimentality, not until he knew more about where they stood.
Draco kept his eyes forward as they walked, unwilling now to glance over at his father. When he had been younger and in constant contact, it had been much easier to be around him. Things were very different now, and Draco was having some trouble accepting that fact. This, naturally, was quite troublesome to him. Perhaps if he had sought his father out instead of coming across him merely by accident (Or was it? Father was terribly sly, after all.), he would not be so inwardly ill at ease.
A building, one Draco knew to have flats and house several witches and wizards, was not far off. Farther down the lane were houses and such that appeared bad off. Though he could not picture his father, Lucius Malfoy, in a flat of all things, he had an even more difficult time imagining him to have taken up residence in a badly damaged cottage.
"Is this where you're staying?" he asked, a jerk of his chin indicating the looming building.
"It is," Lucius answered, inclining his head. It was not, by any means, an impressive building, but at least he was not living in some rundown hovel. Or, he thought with no small amount of irony, a prison cell.
"It's not what I'm accustomed to, of course, but I daresay I've managed to make myself at home, thanks to some of the furnishings brought over from the Manor." He gazed at Draco for a moment more, struck by the urge to shake his hand or something, just so he would be able to convince himself later that this had been real.
"I'm in 6-B," he said at last, "in case you change your mind about that statue. Or anything else."
Vague, but full of meaning if Draco chose to interpret it as such. Lucius gave a slight nod and prepared to continue into the building alone.
Draco nodded; he understood all too well what it was like to live in a place to which he was not accustomed. He had managed to make the most of his flat -- between the liberated furnishings, transfigured pieces, open space, and wards -- and it would have to do until he could acquire better. It was not complete squalor, nor was it entirely dreadful. However, he sincerely hoped he would have better lodging in the not-so-distant future.
"Do as you must to survive," Draco noted, lips quirking wryly. Ah, the double-edged sword. They both certainly had done as they must to survive, hadn't they? Not, of course, that Father likely had more than an inkling of an idea as to what Draco had been through.
"6-B," he repeated, the smile fading into a thin, polite line. "I'll remember that, Father."
He would not accompany his father tonight. It would be too soon and he had much to process.
"Or anything else."
Now that was interesting, indeed.
Returning his father's nod, Draco took a step back, observing.
All in all, Draco was having difficulty in responding to this entire situation like a grown man rather than a sullen, petulant child.
He couldn't do this.
"Father," Draco said slowly, inclining his head toward the path Lucius had indicated, "I--"
But then it occurred to him that his father would see him as a disappointment, would find fault with Draco somehow if he did not accompany Lucius back to his home. Lucius had been pleased to see him; perhaps Draco could use this to his advantage somehow. Clearly Lucius hadn't any idea what Draco had done on his behalf or for him or because of him during the war; this would be leverage at some point. He could use his experiences to get something he wanted from Father when the time was right.
If only Father knew; he would be even more pleased.
The thought made him inwardly smirk, and he waved his hand, dismissing his abruptly-cut off sentence.
"I would like that very much."
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And Lucius couldn't complain about that. The truth was, he had been expecting the boy to turn away.
"You know," he said conversationally, "Almost everything I know about the events of the past few years is directly out of the Daily Prophet." He glanced sidelong at Draco.
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Ah, The Daily Prophet. Fat lot of rubbish it was. Draco snorted, remembering the 'underground' copies that made their way into society long after the offices had been destroyed during one of the attacks. Nosy sods desperate to get the word out to the masses, no matter if it was true or not.
"Then I expect you know nothing of consequence. The Daily Prophet was not, is not, shall never be fit for anything other than liner for owl cages."
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"I wouldn't go that far," he said mildly. "There have been times when it proved useful for influencing public opinion, if one knew who to contact and how to tell the story."
Rita had always been so very accommodating, after all. But Lucius didn't even know if she'd survived the war, much less what the state of the Daily Prophet had been recently. Draco obviously knew more about the events of the war than was common knowledge. Time for a change of subject.
"Do you recall the jade statue your grandfather gave you for your sixth birthday?" Lucius kept his eyes ahead and his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "The dragon that breathed fire. I wonder if you might like to have it?"
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"It isn't like that any longer," Draco said after a long silence. "Though perhaps there is hope for the future."
Not that Draco would seek out any of the reporters. He hadn't anything of consequence to report...yet. That could always change, certainly.
Upon mention of the statue, Draco forgot all pretense and stopped, staring at his father. The statue in question held significant importance to him, or at least it had once. Draco hadn't given it a thought in years; he had assumed it'd been lost amid the shufflings of war and nosy Ministry sods sullying the Manor's corridors. "I recall it, yes," he said carefully.
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The statue, now... Lucius paused when Draco stopped walking and allowed himself a small smile. "If you do decide you'd like to have it, do let me know. I've got it on a corner table in my spare room, but I'm afraid there just isn't enough room for everything. You can pick it up tonight, if you wish."
He continued walking, leaving Draco to catch up. The truth was, he had been pleased to find that particular piece among the remnants of his possessions, but he wouldn't mind at all giving it back to its rightful owner. And a small show of goodwill might help convince Draco that they could be more like father and son, and a little less like opponents sitting across the chess board from one another.
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"Surely a spare room has a spare bit of space for a statue of its size," Draco said lightly. Averting his eyes, he pretended to brush away a thread, unwilling to appear too eager.
When Father began to walk again, Draco waited a few seconds before moving to fall into step beside him. Perhaps now would be the appropriate time to ask a few questions, to engage in pleasantries.
All pleasantries, naturally, pointed to information.
"When did you arrive, Father?"
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"In any case, I haven't been here for long... a few weeks, I believe." Not that he cared to remember the night he'd come to town. Running into a party of Aurors out looking for troublemakers had not been pleasant. "I confess, I am still learning my way around town."
There. He'd offered something Draco wanted, and admitted to a weakness of his own. That was as much as he could possibly do without getting something in return.
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"A few weeks?" Lifting his chin, the slightest of smirks adorned his face. "There is much to learn about this place, Father. And of its inhabitants." Oh, there certainly was much to learn. No doubt about that.
"What, praytell, have you learnt thus far?" he asked conversationally. Of course, he wasn't asking simply for the sake of conversation. "The town is rather large, in your position I believe it must be taxing, no?"
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"And what 'condition' would that be?" he asked archly. "If you think I'm out for a stroll because they took my wand, and it's my only option, you would be quite mistaken."
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"I meant nothing by it, Father," Draco said calmly. "I myself must take care." Smiling grimly, he pushed back enough of his cloak to briefly reveal his wand to his father, needing to do so to re-balance the scales. "They haven't my wand either."
Quirking a brow, he smoothly let go of his cloak so it hung cleanly at his side, hiding his wand from plain sight. "I meant no offense."
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"Of course," Lucius said, dismissing the whole incident. He wanted to ask why Draco would have to take care, but he wasn't willing to push the issue tonight. Better to walk in silence for a moment and consider the possibilities.
Draco was concealing the fact that he still had his wand. Perhaps he was still under suspicion, somehow. Lucius knew of the boy's early involvement with the Death Eaters, but it was extremely difficult to get any "inside" news when he was in prison. Newly convicted Death Eaters had avoided him, in case the Dark Lord's disfavor was catching.
In any case, they were nearing Copper Towers. It was tempting to slow his steps, to make this contact with his son, however distant and uncertain, last just a bit longer. But he instinctively shied away from showing such sentimentality, not until he knew more about where they stood.
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A building, one Draco knew to have flats and house several witches and wizards, was not far off. Farther down the lane were houses and such that appeared bad off. Though he could not picture his father, Lucius Malfoy, in a flat of all things, he had an even more difficult time imagining him to have taken up residence in a badly damaged cottage.
"Is this where you're staying?" he asked, a jerk of his chin indicating the looming building.
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"It's not what I'm accustomed to, of course, but I daresay I've managed to make myself at home, thanks to some of the furnishings brought over from the Manor." He gazed at Draco for a moment more, struck by the urge to shake his hand or something, just so he would be able to convince himself later that this had been real.
"I'm in 6-B," he said at last, "in case you change your mind about that statue. Or anything else."
Vague, but full of meaning if Draco chose to interpret it as such. Lucius gave a slight nod and prepared to continue into the building alone.
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"Do as you must to survive," Draco noted, lips quirking wryly. Ah, the double-edged sword. They both certainly had done as they must to survive, hadn't they? Not, of course, that Father likely had more than an inkling of an idea as to what Draco had been through.
"6-B," he repeated, the smile fading into a thin, polite line. "I'll remember that, Father."
He would not accompany his father tonight. It would be too soon and he had much to process.
"Or anything else."
Now that was interesting, indeed.
Returning his father's nod, Draco took a step back, observing.
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Time would tell.
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