It had been months since Draco had seen his father. Lucius Malfoy had been, according to what Draco had been able to piece together, sent off on some secret mission for the Dark Lord. His mother has been distracted more so than usual this time. It was as though the older Lucius got, the more Narcissa realized he was living on borrowed time. How long could one man defy the odds and survive?
Whatever his father was doing, Draco was worried for him. Contrary to the Freudian rumors flung around at school, Lucius was neither abusive nor an alcoholic. He was not a cold-hearted empty asshole, and he was not neglectful. Draco wasn't doted on, but that was more because his parents didn't want him to end up with Only Child Syndrome. Both parents loved him.
But just because Draco worried for his father, it didn't mean he approved of everything he did. It wasn't that Draco didn't believe in pureblood supremacy: He was fully indoctrinated in the propaganda that the Dark Lord's followers continued to teach their children. But just because he and his kin were better than the mudbloods and muggles didn't mean that torturing them and murdering them was the right answer.
Draco heavily suspected that the best thing to do would be to quietly repress the mudbloods. Just... stop inviting them to Hogwarts. Send them to internment camps where their magic could be monitored and they could learn JUST enough to do the menial tasks needed in wizarding society. If you limited their education, you limited their opportunities. It was such an easy answer.
As Lucius used to say of Greg and Vinny, "The world needs ditch diggers too."
But torture? That wasn't elegant. It was barbarism.
On the evening when Lucius returned, the family was awkward. It was always hard to deal with deployments, and it was almost as hard to deal with the return. From being man of the house, Draco had to step back and relinquish the reins to his father. The business of being a landlord to smaller estates and managing the many investments always returned to Lucius.
Little things that his mother did were back in the hands of the house elves. Narcissa loved to cook, especially soul food from the southern US. Soul food needed to be made with love and passion to be worth a damn. But they had house elves for a reason, and Lucius didn't want to pay to feed the elves if they weren't going to be pulling their weight.
The house elves had cooked a wonderful dinner, of course. That's just what they did. Still, it was always a sad transition for Draco's stomach to go from biscuits and gravy, pork chops, and corn bread back to the fancy French cuisine his father favored.
"Come on, Dad. What's the best story you've got?"
"The best stories are always classified." Narcissa said with a small pout.
"Of course they are. The best stories are the ones that matter, the ones where we made a difference. And that's not exactly things that are safe for you to hear, Love." Lucius wanted to console his wife. It happened every time he returned from a business trip of any kind, whether for the Dark Lord or related to his investments. To protect Narcissa and Draco, they had to remain blessedly clueless.
"What's the best one that you can tell us?"
"You'll have to promise not to share it with anyone. Goyle would kill me."
Immediately, Draco and Narcissa both sat up in their chairs, interest piqued.
"Promise. Both of you. Or I'm not telling." Lucius sat like a king on his throne, arms crossed over his chest. His smile was wide and threatened to take in his ears.
"Spill! Spill! Spill!" His son and wife chanted at him, Draco thumping his fists on the table.
"Spill isn't a promise, you silly heathens."
"We promise!"
Lucius cracked his neck from side to side and stretched his back, as though it would be physically exhausting to tell the story.
"Alright. Well, we were in a muggle city, and Goyle, Crabbe, and I were looking for souvenirs for our sons... Shush, Draco, I'll give it to you later! That's not the story, you spoiled brat." Lucius laughed at his son, and just missed getting his long blond hair in his soup. "As we're shopping, Goyle gets tapped on the shoulder by the leggiest brunette any of us had ever seen. Of course, Crabbe and I realize that she's not really interested in Goyle, but after the divorce Goyle's more desperate than normal."
Lucius took a sip of his wine, dragging the tale out longer.
"So, he looks at us and we both shake our heads, and tell him not to go with her, and not to give her a single pound, Euro, sickle... she wasn't even worth a Yen."
"What a mean thing to say! And right in front of the woman, too!" Narcissa crossed her arms, and frowned at her husband. "You are so rude when you're not with me."
"No, Love, I wasn't being rude... You see, Goyle didn't notice one important thing about the leggy brunette in question."
"And what did he miss?"
"The Adam's Apple!"
The three laughed together and continued telling stories and jokes well into the night. Draco would be exhausted tomorrow, but that's what made the summer great. He could stay up all night with his father and mother, and sleep as late as he wanted.
It was easy to forget that his father was The Bad Guy.