"Explain."

"I thought it seemed fairly straightforward, Father. Scullfield and Brents will not extend any further credit to us, nor will they fulfil any orders, until we have lowered our rather massive account with them. "

"How massive?"

"More Galleons than we have hidden in the back room, and then some. Father, let's face it. We're broke."

Lucius Malfoy hoisted himself out of the solid wooden chair, and went to pace about the room. He would have had a far better chance of doing so if he hadn't managed to trip over one of the large and shaggy Irish Wolfhounds which customarily rested themselves beside the chair, and who had misinterpreted the movement as the prelude to a WALK! Between the yelp of the dog and the grunt of the wizard the moment was lost, and the dogs wisely fled while Draco helped his father back into his chair.

The normally dapper wizard was looking somewhat gaunt, and his face was grey and sweating. Since the final battle, where a couple of badly- (or well-) aimed hexes had hit him in the midst of it all, he hadn't been quite himself. His gait was staggered, and a constant low pain throughout his entire body had kept him from any form of useful task. And a Malfoy does not work. Oh no – no Malfoy had held anything but a sinecure for centuries, and a combination of skilful investment and marrying well had kept the family afloat. But now...

Lucius looked around at the frayed carpet, the shabby furniture and the drapes that still showed scorch-marks from a fateful day some months ago, when a certain formerly-employed house-elf had created chaos during a rapid getaway. Although the chandelier had had a reparo thrown on it shortly afterwards, the missing shards were evident by the gaps like lost teeth in the rows of crystal.

"You realise of course, Draco, that since your mother left things have not gone at all well."

Draco wisely refrained from commenting, although he too was painfully aware of the decline of Malfoy Manor since his mother had quit the house and the marriage. He visited her often in her stylish Belgrave apartment, and while the improvement in the atmosphere at home had been palpable, he felt her loss keenly. And it wasn't just the money. Narcissa's ability to run the house had kept the place together through the war, and since she had walked out and wanted nothing to do with Lucius any more, the spirit of the place had left it too. "Should I try another wine merchant? Verbene's isn't bad, and…"

"No, they'd just give the same answer. They are all very much aware of our situation." Lucius scowled at the empty decanter beside him and tried hard not to break it. "Draco, we need to face reality. Since I was dismissed from the Governorship of Hogwarts, and the Board of various useful organisations..." At this, Draco suppressed a snigger. Some of those organisations were solely for the continuation of various exclusive Wizarding clubs. No-one who had belonged to the Upper Marlowe Gobstones and Galleons Group had actually touched a Gobstone in about fifty years. Lucius noticed his son's attempts to dissemble, and continued regardless. "As I was saying, my lack of current income is causing a liquidity crisis in this family, and as the head of the household, I must do something to alleviate the situation."

"You sound like that pinhead Percy Weasley."

"Draco? Shut up. Now, where was I?"

"Pontificating. Father, you're too ill to work for the moment, and I am not. So please don't try to be noble – you're in no fit state to do so. I'll have to find something to keep us going, or we'll lose the manor. " Draco winced at this, but his determined look silenced his father, who relaxed back into the cushions on the worn armchair and tried hard not to notice the pain in his back and guts.

"There has to be some place that wants a well-educated pure-blooded wizard still", Draco mused as he paced up and down the carpet. "I have a feeling the Ministry's out, but perhaps one of the newspaper offices, or a store…"

"Speaking of newspapers, maybe the Prophet has some advertisements." A shudder went through the tall man's frame, not entirely due to the cold draught that was stirring the dust bunnies under his chair. He spoke though to empty air as Draco had already divined this possibility and was heading out to send a hopeful owl for a subscription.

It took a few days of carefully-worded applications and some rather smart (hired) owls, but Lucius was aware a week later that Draco was up and leaving the house at an unmentionable hour, dressed rather smartly in the coat he had worn in his last years at school. It made Lucius feel old to have such a grown-up son, and this and the constant tiredness brought a surprising tear to his eye.

"An interview?"

"With a magical ingredients company, this morning. And another this afternoon with a wizarding book publisher. If any owls come for me while I'm out…" Draco smiled at his father's dismissive wave, and headed out hopefully.

Lucius looked around the room, at a loss now to find something he could do to ease the strain in the household. He tired easily, but he felt he could manage a little tidying, perhaps dusting the mantle or something of that ilk.

Draco apparated back to the house entry at sundown, a hopeful look on his face and a folder under his arm. He looked around at the room, which was showing some signs of attention – the mail was in one pile rather than strewn about, and the floor had been swept. It was painfully obvious that Lucius's energy had given out at this point though. The broom was propped against the table and the pile of dust, dog hair and detritus was still sitting on the floor beside it. Draco swept up the pile into a sheet of newspaper, then levitated it into a nearby dustbin on his way through the hallway. It only took him a few seconds to trace his father to the study, where the careworn wizard lay asleep on the leather sofa.

An hour later Lucius was woken by the glorious scent of freshly-cooked tuna-and-pasta in front of him. He sat up and realised his son was standing in front of him with a loose cotton robe over his normally natty clothing, and an oven mitt holding a heated plate in his hand.

"I didn't want to put it on the desk. The plate's hot and it would damage the finish."

Lucius ran both his hands through his hair and tried to shake off the tiredness. "Cooking?"

"I start work tomorrow. The magical supply company needs clerical help, and they need me immediately. So I thought I'd celebrate by making dinner. "

Lucius hadn't realised how hungry he was, and dived onto the food thankfully. Draco smiled at the eagerness in his father, more than he had seen for a while, and realised that worry about the finances was part of the problem. He sat down opposite the older man, and went straight into it.

"Father, you were trying to help here, I know, but you're still weak. And the last thing we need now is for you to collapse. So it's lovely if you can do a little around the house, but please don't push yourself too hard. I'll be working myself, but with some money coming in we can afford to order in a few meals, and maybe look at getting someone to come and clean once a week." Lucius made a movement in denial, but Draco ploughed on. "I know that would cost, but it will cost more if you end up back in St Mungo's. Just for a while. Trust me on this."

Lucius swallowed his mouthful, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Very well", he demurred. "I'll do a little but not too much. But I feel…" He paused, unwilling to admit the truth.

"Helpless." Draco nodded sagely, the cares of the past year having made him grow up at last. "Face it, Father. For years you and mother have supported me. For a little while, let me return the favour." He stood and left his father wondering when the man had replaced the boy, and why it had taken so long to notice.