PROLOGUE
Whoops and cheers filled the streets, as did brilliant sparks of every color. People were dancing, grabbing strangers and swinging them in jubilant circles. One witch made a grab for a harried Lucius Malfoy, only to be violently shrugged off. He sped up and grimaced as another parliament of owls swept by, guarding his face from the torrent of feathers and party-goers alike with an arm.
"The Boy Who Lived!" It might as well have been a chorus of hexes, for The Boy Who Lived in conjunction meant The Plan That Failed.
That plan just happened to be his.
"Malfoy! Malfoy!" cried an older, heavier man (one of those gits from the Ministry – he could hardly tell them apart) from the crowd, clearly deep in his butterbeers. "Did you hear! Hic! Did you hear about The Boy Who Lived?"
He whirled around.
"What do you think I am!" shouted Lucius. "Deaf?"
Ministry Git may as well have been, for he kept reveling on.
He had to get out of sight before someone sober spotted him.
The aroma of baking drifted down the hall, though its warmth was lost under Narcissa's chilled tone.
"There must have be a mistake here, Mr. Dawlish..."
It would be a vain hope that Lucius would simply wake up from an Auror-laden nightmare, for this Auror-laden nightmare was their post-Dark Lord life. Instead, he smoothed out his bathrobe and mentally ran through his alibis.
"Lucius, dear?" called his wife when she heard his slippered footsteps down the hall. She cradled their son in her arms, stroking Draco's forehead. "We have... unexpected visitors."
Unexpected. That had a different meaning in Malfoyish.
Unexpected
adjective
Completely and utterly expected and planned for, usually to the other party's detriment: it was an unexpected tragedy when the Bones family was found to now resemble their surname.
Typical, and something that should have been expected and planned for: how unexpected that Moody's Cruciatus spell would be that potent seven times over.
Deviating from unspoken expectations: it was entirely unexpected that Dobby would attempt to poison Narcissa's favorite sister.
"I believe they're just in time for breakfast," Lucius drawled, leisurely taking his seat at the dining table.
Both Aurors – Merlin cared which was who – had their wands pointed at him, to which he nonchalantly rose his hands into sight.
"Might I ask the meaning of this?" he faux-casually asked, brows arched high.
One of the Aurors opened their mouths, before an owl started scraping at the window. It had a parcel, carefully wrapped in pink silk with a gift tag tying it off. Narcissa's flinch was near-imperceptible, were one not her husband – or trained to watch for discomfort. One Auror kept his wand trained on Lucius, while the other went to retrieve the parcel.
"'To my beloved sister!'" he read out, cynically, before counter-jinxing the present.
Nothing happened.
Lucius and Narcissa looked to each other, and then the package, with matching frowns.
"It's a boy," they explained in tired, habitual unison.
The Auror drew it open, peered in, and closed it, clearing his throat.
"Oh."
Draco let out a sudden, punctuated wail.
Nothing sped an interrogation along like pureblood family feuds.