Chapter One: Dad's Decision

Draco was late arriving to breakfast. "Sorry."

Narcissa glanced at him as he sat. "Good morning, darling."

"Doesn't hurt to be punctual, son. Even if it's for your old mum and dad." Lucius said pointedly. "Not to mention your scones have gone cold."

The young Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Good morning, mother."

The slight in greeting did not escape Lucius, but he withheld any commentary, glaring between mother and son. He reached for the jam pot and his eyes lingered on the Daily Prophet lying like an accusation in the center of the table.

Not one of them had lifted the paper. It was a sore festering there, ripe with their faces gracing its front page. MALFOY TRIAL ENDS it read. There was no need, really, for any Malfoy to read it, aware as they were of their own trials ending. They were each more than aware of their own outcomes, the slaps dealt by fate.

Narcissa Black Malfoy: not guilty of involvement in Death Eater activities. No sentencing.

Draco Lucius Malfoy: guilty of indirect involvement in Death Eater activities, casting of Unforgivable curses and assistance in criminal magical trespass; sentenced to six months wandless and muggle exposure therapy. Which was a convenient sentencing partially as he was already wandless. He'd met the sentencing with a bowed head and defeated sigh. At least it wasn't Azkaban...

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy: guilty of direct involvement in Death Eater activities, casting of multiple Unforgivable Curses, criminal magical trespass, destruction of Ministry of Magic property, unlawful imprisonment, inhumane treatment of unlawful prisoners and a host of other variegated phrases that - as Lucius reported - made him "sound far worse" than he actually was. (His wife had coldly and quietly disputed this sad defense.) He was sentenced to one year wandless (also convenient) and muggle exposure therapy, numerous magical community service projects and reparations totaling an "ungodly amount." His words. Not the Wizengamot's.

Draco had been overall pleased with the outcome. In fact, he'd secretly been thrilled his father would have to hemorrhage funds to cover mudblood hospital fees, Hogwarts' rebuilding and house-elf sock-fittings. The younger Malfoy had only (in truth) been disappointed that his father hadn't received a life sentence to Azkaban. Or better yet, the Dementor's Kiss.

Draco split a (now cold) scone and rammed butter into it. No, he was destined to live with his father interminably, it seemed. Oh, well. His eyes cut to his mother.

The Malfoy matriarch was sitting (literally) pretty. There was apparently something to be said for feeling up Potter and lying to the Dark Lord's noseless face. So while the scarhead had technically spoken for the entire family, he'd doubtless spoken most verbosely for Narcissa, dropping flowery phrases like "the lie that will never die" and "above all a mother" and "certainly vested in the victory of the light."

Draco wasn't really certain about all that. His eyes narrowed as he considered the witch who'd birthed him, watched her neurotically crease the serviette in her lap. Had she really been invested in the victory of the light? Or was she more out to protect her own fold? Perhaps someday he would ask her.

Either way, Potter had spoken. And Saint Potter's word was righteous. An eerie feeling crept up Draco's left arm. Perhaps Potter fancies my mum! He watched her set her teacup delicately back into its saucer before touching her throat, as if she was checking that things unsaid there remained unsaid there. It was a lovely throat. Gah. He shook his head. It hurt from days of dread and droning. So long as it's all behind us now.

Lucius broke the uncomfortable silence, steepling his fingers in finality. "Now that all of this late business is behind us..."

Narcissa stared openly at her husband, silently - brutally - contesting his statement. A breakfast table duel. Four rashers of bacon were No Man's Land and the lesser wizard yielded with a downcast gaze and gulp, qualified his announcement. "What I mean to say is, now that our trials -" He shot his wife a pointed glare. "- have ended... I think we should consider a..." He paused. Chose his words carefully. "A sabbatical."

"You mean we should go into hiding?" Draco asked.

"Not what I said."

Narcissa smirked at her son. Leave it to her darling boy to speak the ugly truth. She caught Lucius catching her simper and sobered. Raised her brows at her husband expectantly. Again he looked down. Her thrill of victory hardened her nipples. A fulfillment translated to sexual. How sad her life had become... "What do you suggest, husband?"

Formality clinked on the edge of Lucius' teacup. "I was considering Mont Blanc." Draco scoffed and Narcissa's shoulders slouched. Lucius rolled over his family's reactions with his usual disregard. "As it is located within short distance of various...muggle habitats, I believe it will be advantageous to satisfy our muggle exposure requirements while keeping us convenient to the magical community I must..." His mouth worked. "...service." He sniffed. "I've made my decision."

"Your decision," Draco derised. He gestured to Narcissa. "Why should mum suffer for your mistakes? Why should I?"

"Draco," Cissa breathed. She saw war approaching and she'd just survived one, so she hardly wished to witness another. "Your father does make a valid point regarding the muggle exposure therapy."

Lucius looked positively taken aback that his wife had supported him, but his glare at Draco was one of dare.

Draco however, was not looking at his father but at his mother. Her eyes asked for peace, blue and soft and begging. She knew he could never refuse her a thing in this life. So he surrendered. Cast his serviette to the table. "Please pass the damned jam."

The jam - indeed damned - was witness to treaty.

"Good then." Lucius successfully deluded himself into believing he'd won. "I think it will be refreshing for us to...take in some mountain air."

"Bunch of old wizards talking about the price of potions and witches comparing shoes all day. Lovely." Draco spread the jam on his scone.

"I recall you being rather fond of Mont Blanc, Draco." Lucius' lips thinned.

"When I was five."

"This isn't purely a pleasure excursion, son!"

"It's purely a Malfoys-avoid-taking-the-piss excursion, father."

"Enough!" Narcissa's hands pressed flat to the table and halted hatred. She shook slightly. "I'm weary of argument and more weary of weariness. Mont Blanc it shall be, Lucius. Draco?" She gave her son a tight smile that was more of a threat. "Please try to make the best of the situation. We all must."

He couldn't tolerate seeing her upset. Blamed his father and vowed to rectify. "Yes, mother." He nodded - a bow of apology. "Perhaps I can use the time to study for my NEWTs."

"Excellent." She took a deep breath and pushed away from the table. "Excuse me." She swept away in a rustle of silk.

Draco and Lucius remained locked in quiet disagreement. They heard the manor doors bang heavily and knew that the witch had gone to her plants, her solace. They also knew (each in his own guilt) that they had driven her there.

Lucius sighed. "Son..."

Draco waited a breath, but when no more from his father's lips seemed forthcoming - "Please excuse me as well, father."

So the father watched the son go. The doors banged again and Lucius rubbed his forehead. Always against him, those two. My own family. He sullenly tapped the tea tray. My own fault.

Draco rounded the side of the manor briskly, shooing peacocks away when they flocked seeking scratch. He stopped at the east wing patio, watching the witch in the distance. She sat on a stone bench by the shimmering lake, picturesque. Then, sensing his presence, she turned toward him. He took her glance as an invitation and joined her. "Shove over."

The bench was technically too small for the two of them to inhabit together, but Draco rather enjoyed the softness of her hip caressing the hardness of his hip. And he knew she loved him, so he could rib her. "Ow!" She chuckled once he'd settled in. "You're too big for this now!"

"I've grown, mum." He stretched an arm across the seat back and squeezed her. "So have you."

She gaped at him, scandalised. "Are you saying -"

"I'm saying you've put back all the weight you lost these last months." He said gently. "And it's quite becoming."

She blushed. Tisked. "Draco..."

"Narcissa." He grinned. They watched white light flicker across the surface of the pond. Two swans glided by, painting a perfect picture. The Malfoys smiled at the idyll...until one swan mounted the other.

Draco grimaced. Narcissa cleared her throat. They shifted uncomfortably, each looking at something in opposing directions. Once the mating swans had drifted on, Draco broached the subject. "So. Mont Blanc."

Narcissa sighed, dropped her head into her hands. "I know that you aren't fond, son. But -"

"It's a good idea." He leaned forward to regard her. "Father's right about that much, I suppose." It literally ached him to admit this.

"May I finish a sentence today?"

"Hm? Oh, I suppose."

"I suppose things could be a great deal worse for us, lovie. We could be -"

"Rotting in Azkaban?"

Her fingers stung a bit when they slapped across his lips. "Or we could be scowled at in the streets wherever we go. Prisoners in our own home. Subjected to horrendous humiliation. Which do you prefer? Because I think I will gladly accept a private wizarding enclave where the beds are comfortable, the air is crisp and the food is excellent."She removed her hand.

Draco had long since acceded to the inevitable. "You like the shopping," he accused.

"No! I love the shopping." She elbowed him. "But I truly believe this will be good for us."

"And I'm going." Defense bled into his tone. He gazed at her sharply. "But know that I'm going for you. Not due to any decision father might have made on behalf of this family. But for you."

She met his eyes. Her smile fell, replaced by a rather serious frown. "And I thank you for that. Listen, son..." She placed a hand on his knee and he placed a hand atop it. "I know that you resent your father's propensity for making decisions without consulting us. I do, too. But now is not the time to have dissention among us. We need to support one another."

Draco lifted her hand to his lips, not once looking away from her face. The skin was soft against his lips. "I don't think we've ever had a problem supporting one another, mum."

She considered his words, searched his silver eyes. Finally, she reached for his face. Pulled his cheek to her lips. "No. No, we haven't," she murmured there. Draco didn't withdraw his head. Narcissa leaned into his embrace. He kissed the part in her hair, and light from the pond's surface danced on mother's and son's pale, peaceful faces.

AN: Allow me this piece of pure escapism. Life can be stressful, harrowing, fatiguing, depressing and downright unfair at times. Selfishly, I need some respite right now. Welcome to my retreat. And by the way, if you haven't seen the movie Dirty Dancing, you'd better watch it now. Because the Malfoys are about to have the time of their lives. Playlist coming soon, so watch for it on my profile.