Disclaimer: Harry Potter & characters are not mine. I merely have them act on my behalf.

Mail: mistermalfoy at gmail dot com

"He is dead!" The cheering of the Death Eaters surrounding the pale, snake-like face of the one they'd all called Master grated on his very skin. He felt his face twitch and his hands tremble, encased by the finest materials known to the Wizarding world. The missing wand which had run in his family for generations left a heavy void in his hand and in his being.

Hours after Potter's victory at the Final Battle of Hogwarts, as it was now dubbed, he and his family retreated with heads bowed and pride nonexistent. It was at the end that his wife had led him down the right path, the path concerned naught with victory, but with family, with the only son their union bore. Draco was alive and safe, if not a bit worse for wear. Nothing compared to Lucius Malfoy, however.

As he stood before the floor-length mirror in the massive main chambers of Malfoy Manor, bloodshot eyes trailed over the reflection covered in fine silks and leathers that softly encased his aching body. The months of humiliation endured in his own estate had left their marks; although not all visible, anyone observant enough would not miss the ghosts whispering in his cool grey eyes, nor the sleepless nights etched into the sides of his lips, which now, were drawn into a neutral line.

"Darling," came the soft voice he ached to feel whispered against his injured flesh, "he's arrived." All too soft arms encircled his hollow form, coaxing the fires of life from within his pallid torso. The gentle pressure of an angular, yet soft, chin pushed onto his jutting shoulder.

Grey gaze locked onto icy blue and held in the reflection for a split second before he nodded wordlessly and turned in her arms. She supported him as a solid column supported the ancient Greek structures for hundreds, thousands of years. She was his anchor and he was immeasurably grateful that she hadn't left him to flounder in loneliness over all of these years. Oh, the agony he'd put her through; the misery of wondering whether her husband and son were still alive, the anger of knowing she would willingly follow them both into death, if only to keep her family united.

It was all written in her eyes, but above all of those things lay a warmth and comfort that hadn't left in over 20 years of marriage.

"Lead the way, mon ange." His raspy voice had softened to a mere whisper as his hands held onto hers and squeezed, partly for acknowledgement, partly to reassure himself that this was real, that they were still alive.

—

"—all is forgiven."

He hadn't really heard much of Harry Potter's prior speech until those words were spoken. They ran like water rushing through open flood gates into his mind, drowning out all senses and causing his erect form to falter and lean heavily against the embroidered armchair near the blazing hearth. Even the warmth failed to permeate into his body, which shivered with chill and something else.

Those tender, soft hands smoothed along slightly roughened cheeks, bidding him reentry into the conscious world. He'd slumped farther into the chair than he thought, seeming to have had an attack of sorts. Young Potter leaned forward in his own chair as though to assist, if a bit hesitantly, knowing Lucius had once been his enemy.

"My darling," she whispered covertly into his left ear, rouge lips brushing against pale blond wisps, "all will be well. Let us maintain our dignity and thank Mister Potter for his fair and just words."

Her instructions cut through the torrent of waves crashing against his ear drums, silencing them and rebuilding the dam within his mind. Nodding, almost pained, he allowed his pillar to support him once more, her eyes lending him the strength he needed right then.

"Th—thank you, Mister Potter," he began, a falter and then a stronger note entering his voice, "we appreciate the chance to prove our loyalty to the new Ministry." Lucius stood, with the aid of Narcissa, and walked the few steps with as much steadiness as he could muster, before kneeling heavily in front of the young man and reaching for his hands. Those blessed hands which had struck down their Overlord and had given them a second chance.

He couldn't control the stream which traced its watery path down his cheeks, bringing a touch of life back into his pallid features. Dry lips brushed sincerely against those young hands as he held onto them for dear life.

"Mister Malfoy—"

"I thank you from the bottom of our hearts." His words came unpracticed, almost unbidden, as he raised his head in adulation of this boy, this man, who had risked his entire life to save people like himself from shame and prolonged servitude.

Harry Potter merely nodded his head, not a judgmental glimmer visible anywhere in his green eyes, nor a disapproving line striking his face. He merely witnessed the scene and took it moment by moment. This kind, selfless man, who took pity on those who had truly seen the wrong of their ways.

Finally, Lucius realized the meaning of that sentence. Narcissa had known for quite a while where her loyalties lay; it was her husband she was silently convincing, slowly over each day that passed, that he was not truly committed to the path he'd originally carved for himself, drawing his family in deeper and deeper into the darkness as he went.

The crackling of the warm hearth brought the present back to him and, releasing the hands of Harry Potter, Lucius stood and bowed in his most dignified manner, allowing his wife to take hold of his arm and lead him back to his chair by the fire. A crystal goblet was placed into his hand and he partook of the sweet concoction, his nerves quickly beginning to quiet down as he observed the young auror before him.

"As you know, I've been asked to bid for the position of Minister for Magic," Harry's voice held a note of distaste at the prospect, "but I've turned it down. It doesn't seem like something I should be doing right now. I need to make sure my friends—" bespectacled gaze turned swiftly to Draco sitting on the other side of the invisible line which parted Harry from the Malfoys, "are taken care of and are adjusting."

Narcissa's hand reached for Draco's at Harry's implication. He hadn't considered the youngest Malfoy a friend through all of these years, but his unending kindness had extended to the pale boy with an offer of a position in his new auror office. The trust in Harry's eyes would not be taken for granted by the Malfoys any further.

"If you need anything else from me, I can be reached at my godfather's estate." None in the room missed the fondness in his voice at the mention of his dearly departed godfather.

They all stood, led by Harry's rising form and nod toward the family opposite him. Narcissa was the first to act, escorting him toward the large entrance of the Manor, Lucius and Draco several steps behind.

"…forgiven." His reverent tone sliced through the air of the entry way as the massive doors closed, Harry Potter's retreating form on the other side.

Narcissa reached for her husband's hands and she gave him a genuine smile before kissing his brow with her full lips. Draco stood still as a statue, eyes staring at the closed doors of the Manor. He'd been quite silent since the battle, hardly acknowledging Harry's actions toward him in the castle, nor the other boy's offer for Draco to work within the Ministry. Only when he felt the soft hand of his mother gripping onto a frozen hand of his, did he turn his head and speak for the first time since that meeting.

"He saved my life." Narcissa's knowing eyes traced her son's features. She noticed the change in him since the battle, but hadn't pressed him on the matter. Harry's purported act did not come as a surprise to her.

"He saved us all, Draco," she confirmed, a kind smile given between son and husband.

Without another word, she, the pillar of strength, the nurturing soul behind the Malfoy name, led her husband and only heir into the depths of the Manor and into their new life.